Why you should never kick Muraki in the balls
by Under the Oak Tree
Summary: (On Hiatus)A twisted tale of finding solace in bloodstained hands
1. Chapter 1:Children grow up so fast

**Why You Should Never Kick Muraki in the Balls**

_A story by Kelly_

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_A/N: Can you believe it? Another YnM story from yours truly. You would think that I would wait until I finished my THREE other stories before drowning myself in another one. . .ah, it just goes to show that "learning from experience" is a rather futile exercise at times._

_This story is about my favourite villain, Muraki Kazutaka whom I firmly believes belongs right up there on the Evil Pedestal with Seishirou Sakurazuka and Eriol Hiiragizawa. Ah. . .drool. . .This is slash people. Don't like, don't read, 'kay? ^__^ Those familiar with my other YnM fic, I would like to point out that there will be no major OC here. Maybe some minor ones just for plot development._

_Warning: Muraki. Nuff said._

_Disclaimer: I'll only do this once. I own nothing except the plot (I think). All else is Youko Matsuhita's, Hana to Yume and whatever lucky bastards that owns the copyrights. This is meant for fun, not profit._

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**Chapter 1: Children grow up**

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He watched from the shadows.

A smirk crossed his face as the rather melodramatic thought drifted through. _Watching from the shadows indeed._ Well, better than waiting in the light and letting them see him. They had other matters in their hands tonight and he felt it was only polite of him really to not show up suddenly and gatecrash their. . . .party.

And a very loud party it was.

Somehow or other, an oni had found its way into the slums of Tokyo this late winter night. The earlier snowfall that had fallen that afternoon and softened the hard edges of the city now lay in grimy slush, thanks to a brief spell of sun. The oni, probably lured into the human realm by a third-rate sorcerer had probably gotten loose and had excited itself with the sudden warmth. Now that it was turning cold again, the oni was getting grumpy.

"Hisoka! Look out!"

"Oof!"

A well-timed tackle from the dark-haired man saved the youth from an irate snap of the oni's elongated torso which greatly resembled a snake. That is, a humongous snake with arms and a lion's mane. Great, sinewy muscles bunched under the green and black scales as the oni trashed around in anger. Not exactly known for their intelligence, the oni must be feeling rather pissed off by now. The only reason no one had come to investigate what sounded like a mini-scale world war in this dingy alley was that this was Tokyo. You don't go messing around in somebody's trouble unless you had a death wish; the one mantra that the denizens in this side of the city held fast to.

"Tsuzuki! I'm fine! Just wait here while I distract it! Then you can banish it!"

"But you might get hurt!"

"Damn it Tsuzuki! I am not a kid!"

A hard shove and a sprint later, the boy, Hisoka, had run around to the other side of the enraged oni and was flinging spell after spell at the demon. Flames and fires burst around it as the ofudas came alive. Red cat eyes rolled around as the oni shrieked in rage and frustration. Each time it turned one way, an ofuda burst right in front of it, startling it and driving it back. And as it turned the other way, another ofuda burst. It was darting this way and that, trying to escape but only succeeded in twisting around in the same spot again and again. Contrary to his usual behaviour, he wasn't watching the dark-haired man that even now waited anxiously to one side. He was watching the boy. Kurosaki Hisoka. His doll.

He smiled. The boy _had _grown up. He was finally getting more adept at the whole spellcasting. The ofudas were well-timed and the chanting was said with the right inflection despite the rush. While the boy had yet to come up to his level, he could be sure that the next time they met, he won't be easily bored.

A predatory smile twisted his face. How the thought entertained him. If there was one thing he hated, it was being bored. A spineless puppet wasn't as much fun as one that bites.

"Now Tsuzuki!"

"Om! Hamu! Sapoho! On!"

A flash of light, a detonating sound like thunder and all traces of the snakelike demon was gone. You wouldn't have thought that anything out of the ordinary had happen at all, except for a small drop of demon blood that even now sizzled and burned on the asphalt.

"Are you alright, Hisoka?"

"I'm _fine_. Stop treating me like a child! You don't need to watch out for me all the time. I can take care of myself!"

"But! But! What if that thing had hurt you! It would've been my fault!"

"Baka! If I had gotten hurt, it would have been _my _fault in the first place for being careless! Now shut up and let's go back!"

He sidled further into the shadows and stilled himself completely as the pair past him by. One still berating, the other still whining, neither noticed the deeper shadow among shadows that watched them with avid eyes.

"But we haven't eaten Thai in ages! Please, Hisoka!"

"Baka! I'm not letting you touch the wallet! And we're having take-away! No Thai!"

Their bickering voices carried through the air as they walked away. For a minute or two, he could still hear them, voices carrying faintly on an errant breeze till even that died away.

_Yes.__ . .your partner might not realize it but you have grown up haven't you boy? Even if your physical self did not. But I guess I have myself to blame for that, hmm?_

Hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his trenchcoat, Muraki Kazutaka, renowned doctor, sadistic killer, all around psychopath and general bastard (just not in the literal sense of the word, thank you), turned sharply and headed down the opposite way which the pair had taken. He wasn't really aware of it but there was a sense of satisfaction in him as he stepped briskly into the night.

After all, it wasn't everyday you see your own creation mature so beautifully.

_Children, he sighed happily, __they grow up so fast._

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**To be continued**

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_A/N: I refuse to type another chapter unless you tell me what a genius I am for coming up with this story and praise me to the moon and back, begging me for more! Wahahahaha!_

_*Cough* Seriously. Tell me if you think I should continue. And why such a title for the story you wonder? Have no fear, it will be explained! Oh, and for those interested, I have uploaded a new story. It's a **Tokyo Babylon/X **fic called **"Not Your Ordinary Life"**. Do try it, ne?_


	2. Chapter 2:Numb

**Why you should never kick Muraki in the balls**

**Chapter Two: Numb**

_A story by Kelly_

_Kelly says: Well, what do you know? Chapter two. Much love to all who reviewed! Pray for the success of this story as this is the first time I'm writing a YnM fic with the original characters as the main cast. May heaven help me._

**_Summary: __It's nearly a year after the __Kyoto__ Arc and Muraki is slowly losing himself to despair. This is a story about love, angst, humour, rage and why you should never kick Muraki in the balls. All will be explained. Soon._**

**_Pairings: __Not saying._**

**_Warning: __Will contain slash, graphic murders, traumatic recollections and the much-needed angst. Slight OOC. Read at your own risk._**

**_Review Replies:_**

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**_Twylise_****_: _**_Thank you, I love the title myself. I got inspired thanks to a SMS from Sakusha and the title just refuses to leave me alone. I had to write something down! This is a rather experimental foray into the twisted psyche that Muraki is. And no worries, I think by the time you read this, I've already uploaded Chapter 22 of EOTW._

**_Keleih_****_, Sakusha-san, Literary Eagle, Izy Clover, neloMoon-chan. EmpressXu, Machi: _**_Yay__! Thank you! *bows* I aim to please. And really, the reason for the title will come up.  ^__^ ** Machi**, are you a fan of that Taiwanese hip-hop group with the same name by any chance? They did a really cool remix of Missy Elliot's "Work It"._

**_Shortchan_****_: _**_Oh dear, why did you almost not click the story because of the title? How did it put you slightly off? But I'm grateful that you overrode the compulsion to not give it a try! Er, unfortunately, this chapter is not that humorous *cringe*. I needed to start giving some groundwork for the inevitable Muraki explosion *Hint! Hint!*. But I hope you'll continue liking it!_

**_panatlantic_****_: __Wan! A review from one of my all-time favourite YnM ficcer! Thank you! ^^ May I say here that I think your fics; "_Eureka___" and "While you were sleeping" are truly masterpieces of YnM humour!_**

**Quotable Quotes From The Questionable Sanity of Kelly;**

_"I'm not really into voyeurism actually. I'm more of an active participant myself."_

_                                                                                                ~Muraki Kazutaka~_

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_Something has been taken from deep inside of me_

_A secret I've kept locked away, no one can ever see_

_Wounds so deep they never show, they never go away_

_Like moving pictures in my head, for years and years they play_

_If I could change I would_

_Take back the pain I would_

_Retrace every wrong move that I made I would_

_If I could stand up and take the blame I would_

_If I could take all the shame to the grave I would_

_~Linkin Park, "Easier to Run"~_

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Muraki scowled reflectively at the sprawled form at his feet. Long hair twined about his white leather shoes like limp tentacles, the ends soaked in rich red blood. The body was slight in form, what grace she had in life carried through to death in the delicate bones of the wrists and the shapely waist and hips. She lay like a goddess waiting for her worshippers to paint the exquisite beauty that death held, though the frame of this canvas was ground sparsely sprinkled with tough grass and slowly congealing blood.

He lifted one foot almost delicately and nudged the limp form.

No response. She had finally given up her hold on her life, the struggle she put up when he'd plunged the knife through her brief and in vain.

A wry smile curled his pale lips as he fingered the blood-soaked blade of the knife he held loosely in one hand. It's ironic really. Just 11 months ago he had been stabbed in the guts by a knife as well. And now he was dealing the same kind of death to those who crossed his path, intentional or otherwise.

Truthfully though, tonight's murder had no real purpose other than the fact that the urge to kill had risen in him again. He thought it must be due to seeing Tsuzuki and the boy Hisoka the other day. For a brief moment, a very brief moment, he had felt alive again. But now all he felt was a certain detachment from the scene, the burning joy at seeing his puppets again drowned out by the ever-present dead weight that settled deep in his chest.

Grimacing slightly as the memories of that night surfaced thanks to the pair, he let the knife fall negligently to the ground, sinking point-first into the damp earth. The blade quivered for a moment, reflecting broken beams of moonlight that gleamed red as well.

Stepping smartly over the body, he strode briskly away from the murder scene, stripping off the white leather gloves that were too stained to be of any use. Stuffing the soiled leathers into the pocket of his trench coat, he got into his car and gunning the engine to life, roared almost defiantly away into the night.

He drove aimlessly around the streets of Tokyo for almost two hours. He hated it when the memories of that night surfaced. It reminded him of his failure. Of his failure to complete the revenge that had driven him beyond the brink of obsession and back for more than 20 years. It made him want to howl in thwarted anger and frustration, while at the same time, laugh until he cried with mirth that after years of careful planning, Saki had the nerve to come out of the whole debacle as the ultimate winner, _again._ The fact that Saki had been the mere remnants of the boy that had haunted him to near madness was trivial. He had lived for revenge. Had wanted nothing but revenge. Had drunk it to its bitter dregs and swallowed the bile, only to be foiled by a filthy great snake and a man who was possibly as insane as he was.

Maybe more.

He supposed that it was his own fault, really. He had underestimated Tsuzuki Asato. He had thought that he had broken the man beyond repair. Well, he had, come to think of it. It just surprised him that the broken puppet had chosen to cut its strings in such a way. He guessed that he had pushed maybe. . .a bit too far?

And to put the icing on the proverbial cake, after recovering from the near-fatal wound thanks to the ministrations of an Oriya who was too happy to see him to scream his ear off about how abysmally _stupid _he was to go and get himself stabbed of all things, he had drifted through his life with an alarming apathy. The underground lab had been damaged beyond repair, thanks to that infernal Touda. Any chances of recovering even bare traces of Saki's genetic leavings were dashed to pieces when all that was left of the lab were mere ashes and timbers blackened to coal hardness.

So left with nothing but thwarted revenge, Muraki had gone through the motions of recovering and dispensing his duties at the Tokyo General Hospital. His apathy had not gone unnoticed by Oriya, curse the man and his over attentiveness. Oriya had been his one and true friend through his life, a steady presence from the earliest memories of his childhood up to when he was completely engulfed by insanity and darkness. Oriya had been his rock, his anchor that he used to pull himself back from the abyss again and again. But this time, even Oriya could do nothing as the very force that made Muraki the charismatic and enigmatic killer that he was, dwindled into nothing more than a flickering flame.

A horn blaring jerked him back to the present with a rude wrench. A black sedan was barreling down on him, the lights blazing and the horn still blaring furiously. He had drifted in to the opposite lane without realizing it. With a hard yank, he twisted the steering back to the left and it was by mere inches that the sedan passed him, the driver flipping him the bird.

Blowing out a noisy sigh, he moved out of the traffic and parked at a curb. Letting the engine idle, he rolled down the window and lit up a cigarette. Exhaling a plume of white smoke, he was disappointed to notice that the trembling from the sudden adrenaline rush had lasted barely a minute. Apparently, even brushes of near-death experiences could not fully shake him out of this wretched apathy he was locked in.

He was on his second cigarette, the white cylinder now only a bare stub, when his cell phone rang. Flipping the phone open, he glanced at the lit up screen. Oriya.

Muraki sighed pensively. It was another sign of his changing personality that strived as he might, he could not avoid. He never sighed. Not really.

"Yes?" he greeted Oriya with a neutrality that he knew drove the man crazy.

True enough, Oriya himself let out a sigh that was as heavy as his had been earlier. "Where are you?" he snapped, the line practically crackling with the tension Oriya radiated.

Muraki gave a cursory glance around. "Still alive unfortunately," he replied wryly.

"What do you mean by that?"

He shrugged, though Oriya could not see it. "Nearly had an accident. And I'm fine, not one scratch," he added, anticipating the next question.

Muraki could tell that Oriya was holding himself back from letting loose a tirade that would encompass heaven and hell, trying to pound it into his head that he better take care of himself, that there are people who care about him, that. . .the only thing stopping him was that he knew from experience that the minute he let loose such a tirade, Muraki would only retreat further into himself.

Another sigh. "What have you been doing tonight?"

Muraki gave another unseen shrug. "Just killed somebody."

The sound of grinding teeth was audible. "Well then. You're coming to the KoKakuRou tonight." The tone brooked no arguments but for old time's sake, he tried anyway.

"I am?" He lifted a sardonic silver eyebrow.

"You are." The menace was simply pouring in waves, promising dire retribution should he worm his way out of the 'invitation'.

"You do realize that it'll take me three hours on the train to get to your place."

"Then you better get a move on. Don't want to miss the last train do you?"

Muraki was silent for several minutes, letting the last of the cigarette die in fading smoke. The rushing of cars and people around him, horns blaring and voices shouting only served to ram in the reality of the world he had created for himself. A world that had only him and a blankness that terrified him out of his mind but with no one and nothing to pull him out. Not even Oriya Mibu.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked softly, head bowed till the silver-white fringe hid him from the real world.

Oriya's reply was immediate and heartfelt in its sincerity. "Because you're my friend. Because I care about you." His little world seemed to tremble slightly on its foundations.

But not enough. Never enough.

"Yo, bon."

Hisoka looked up from the heavy tome he was reading, setting it aside with the page he was reading bookmarked with a pencil. Tsuzuki beside him looked up as well, puppy ears sprouting up in the hopes that Watari had brought cakes. Seeing nothing in the blonde's hands, Tsuzuki whimpered pathetically and with a glare from Hisoka, dove back into the mounds of paperwork that littered his desk. Hisoka had already threatened him earlier with a week of no office doughnuts if he didn't finish the reports by 5pm.

"Yes, Watari-san?" Hisoka asked politely. He too checked Watari's hands carefully for entirely different reasons than Tsuzuki. He was checking to make sure that the scientist had no suspicious liquids waiting to be poured into hapless coffee.

Oh, goodie. No beakers. And no suspiciously over-genkiness gushing today. They were safe.

For now that is.

"How's the report-writing going?" Watari smiled easily and slid into the chair opposite Hisoka's desk.

Hisoka rolled his eyes theatrically and lifted an eyebrow. "I've finished mine two days ago," he replied with another glare to the drooping inu.

Said inu gave another pathetic whimper which Hisoka cruelly ignored. 

"Ah, you'll finish soon, Tsuzuki! I'm sure of it!" Watari patted inu's head cheerfully. "Who knows? I'll bet if you do it really fast, you might even finish by the end of the year!"

"Watari," Tsuzuki transformed back looking serious, "do you realize how absolutely _cruel _you can be sometimes?"

"It's my innate charm," Watari deadpanned. 

"So what can I help you with Watari-san?" Hisoka interjected before the conversation could degenerate into something else.

"Nah, just passing some time before the meeting," Watari waved abstractedly.

Meeting? Frowning, Hisoka glanced over to the whiteboard that listed the day's office activities as well as the staff's current status such as 'Investigating', 'On leave' or occasionally, 'Cinnapon Sale!' for Tsuzuki. True enough, under the office activities section was listed 'Meeting: All staff members' in Tatsumi's elegant scrawl. He must have missed that when he came in this morning with Tsuzuki.

"Do you have any idea what it's about?" he asked curiously. General staff meetings were usually due to some new office policy or directive from either Kacho or Enma-Daioh and in some rare instances, deaths that warranted the entire Shokan's attention. He wondered which of it was the reason for today's meeting.

Watari shrugged negligently but there was no mistaking the sudden tension in the carriage of his shoulders. "There's been a recent spate of murders throughout Tokyo and Kyoto. The human realm can't seem to solve it."

At the mention of Tokyo and Kyoto, both Hisoka and Tsuzuki tensed. Shooting each other wary looks, Hisoka asked, "Why? The souls didn't turn up?"

"The souls turned up intact despite the rather violent entry on the Kiseki but it's the way the murders happened that's getting us involved."

"What do you mean?"

"Our preliminary investigations showed that there were large amounts of magic unleashed at the murder sites. A rather. . .familiar brand of magic I'm afraid," Watari frowned.

"It's not. . ." Hisoka hesitated, a feeling of dread lurking deep in the pit of his stomach, "It's not Muraki is it?"

Large, golden amber eyes blinked slowly behind glasses as Watari tucked back a stray strand of wavy hair that escaped his ribbon. The eyes were filled with a kind of regret and apprehension for both Hisoka and Tsuzuki as he answered.

"I'm afraid it is."

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                                                            **to**** be continued**

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_Kelly says: Ah, this chapter was rather grim comparatively from the first. Had to do it I'm afraid. The scenes are setting the way for a future confrontation. But it is still interesting. . .right? *whimpers* Oh, me and my fragile ego! How can I continue without glowing praises? How? I ask you, how?! *cough*_


	3. Chapter 3:The moon wasn't red

**Why you should never kick Muraki in the balls**

**Chapter Three: The moon wasn't red**

_A story by Kelly_

_Kelly says: Wan! I finally managed to get this out! I am so sorry for the delay but I've been massively busy this week. We had our department festival and I had to be the emcee for several events. Not to mention taking part in the inter-departmental debate. . .which we won! Yay! And I got the award of best debater! Wahahaha! But here I am once again, slaving away to bring out another chapter!_

**_Summary: __It's nearly a year after the __Kyoto__ Arc and Muraki is slowly losing himself to despair. This is a story about love, angst, humour, rage and why you should never kick Muraki in the balls. All will be explained. Soon._**

**_Pairings: __Not saying._**

**_Warning: __Will contain slash, graphic murders, traumatic recollections and the much-needed angst. Slight OOC. Read at your own risk._**

**_Review Replies:_**

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**Quotable Quotes From The Questionable Sanity of Kelly:**

_"I prefer to think of myself as a purveyor of fine female companionship to the discerning client. 'Pimp' sounds much too crass."_

_                                                                                                                        ~Oriya Mibu~_

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_Sometimes I remember, the darkness of my past_

_Bringing back these memories, I wish I didn't have_

_Sometimes I think of letting go and never looking back_

_And never moving forward so there would never be a past_

_It's easier to run_

_Replacing this pain with something numb_

_It's much easier to go_

_Than face all this pain here all alone_

_~Linkin Park, "Easier to run"~_

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It's been over 6 months.

6 months after that night when Tsuzuki tried to kill himself, aided by a Shikigami no less. And here they are, at the very place that's sheltering the demon that drove Tsuzuki to the brink of suicide.

Hisoka shivered despite the knee-length coat he was wearing. After all this time, he could not get use to Chijou's weather. It was always too cold or too hot. Not like Meifu where the temperature was always just nice. It's such a shock to the system, after spending weeks on end in an everlasting spring to suddenly find yourself in a spring that will die in a few weeks and where the weather is just not that. . .perfect.

Of course, it wasn't just because of the weather he was shivering.

Muraki, or the very nearness of the man, tends to have that effect on you.

Hisoka is very careful to have his emphatic shields high up.

Since Kyoto is under Watari's care, the blond was with them on their unscheduled nighttime visit. So is in fact, Tatsumi. 4 Shinigami just to confront one person. Really, you would think that it was kind of excessive to pull out such an entourage for just one man. But then, Muraki isn't exactly ordinary, is he?

Glancing at the taciturn secretary, Hisoka was glad that he had 'volunteered' (where Tatsumi is concerned, a suggestion is pretty much a demand anyway) to accompany them. He recalled the first and last time the Shadow Master confronted the doctor. Tatsumi had definitely managed to hold his own ground against Muraki, whereas he, and Tsuzuki, tended to go into pieces.

But they were stronger now. Better. The nightmares were getting less. For him as well as Tsuzuki. They could do this, they can face the demon and come out intact.

But then, there is that notion of wishful thinking. . . .

The KoKakuRou was as grand as ever. They had noted the steady stream of visitors in expensive, black cars pulling up front, flanked by bulky bodyguards. Tatsumi's earlier research had told them that the restaurant was famous for its discretion, resulting in high-ranking customers that by virtue of their public position alone would have ensured a nasty death to their career should they ever be caught frequenting the place Oriya Mibu ran.

Figuring that Oriya, the one man who could ensure them an audience with their prey, would be relatively busy, they decided to wait until closing time before announcing their arrival. Watari had checked the hospital where Muraki work, the Tokyo General Hospital, and had confirmed that Dr. Muraki had indeed taken time off from work to visit an 'old friend' in Kyoto.

"Are you alright, Kurosaki-kun?" A soft voice intruded on his reverie.

Hisoka started, suddenly too aware of the deep silence that had fallen upon the four of them as they waited. They had chosen a dark corner of Oriya's private garden and had taken care as well to shield their presence.

"Tatsumi-san. . .yes, I'm alright," he replied, softly as well, albeit a bit stiffly. Though he genuinely respected the man, seeing in him a sort of surrogate older brother or a parent even, he had yet to reach a certain level of intimacy with the secretary. None of them were, truth to tell, except perhaps, for Tsuzuki and Watari. But then, Tsuzuki had the honour of being the oldest employee in the JuuOhCHo while Watari. . .well, Watari was Watari. How can you not get friendly with the man? The only person Watari wasn't friendly with was Enma. But then, Enma is a god so you can't really count him.

A sudden flash of hurt streaked through him though, at Tatsumi's well-meant inquiry. He felt hurt that it had been Tatsumi, and not Tsuzuki that had asked that question. After all, his partner should know just how much this visit would be affecting him.

_Baka_, he chided himself. _You're not the only one with a past that has Muraki in it. I'll bet he's not taking this well either_. A quick glance to the still, silent figure to his right confirmed that. The amethyst eyes were closed, perhaps in recollection, and his hands were curled into tight fists by his side. No, Tsuzuki had enough on his mind already.

Stealing out a hand from his pocket, he touched Tsuzuki's bare knuckle briefly, sending a little spurt of comfort through the touch.

"Are _you _okay, Tsuzuki?" he whispered.

It was Tsuzuki's turn to jump, the eyes snapping open and revealing amethyst orbs that were slightly dazed. Seeing all three Shinigami scrutinizing him, Tsuzuki blushed.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he forced a smile. "It's just tiring, waiting like this."

They all knew what a blatant lie that was but none of them called him on it, least of all Hisoka. If he did, then he would merely be calling the kettle black. No. Let Tsuzuki be with his well-meant lie if it means that he could keep his.

The hands of his wristwatch told him that it was after 2 a.m. before Tatsumi finally gave them the all clear.

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"You."

It wasn't exactly the warm welcome they envisioned but at least he wasn't wielding a katana in their face. So the Shinigami took it as a good sign.

To say that Oriya Mibu was pleased to see them would be an understatement of the wrong emotion. His chocolate brown eyes narrowed underneath the soft amber glow of the porch light, sending rippling shimmers of rainbow through his waist-length hair. The hair had been pulled back into a thick braid to keep it out of the way as he worked but instead of detracting, it actually enhanced the image of an old-time warrior, one who is superb with a sword and is not afraid to show it.

His sword-callused hands were tucked in the folds of his kimono as he glared at his unwelcome visitors.

"Well?" he demanded without preamble. "What is it now? Muraki hasn't gone and kidnap any of your employees so I know it can't be about that." His eyes fell on Hisoka who had unconsciously stepped slightly behind Tatsumi, using the secretary as a shield. If anything, Tsuzuki was practically cowering behind all three of them. "Bouya," he acknowledged with a crisp nod. Their duel had been one of a cruel necessity, both trying to protect a loved one and the fact that Hisoka had held his own had accorded him with Oriya's respect.

"We haven't had the chance to properly introduce ourselves the first time we met," Tatsumi interjected smoothly. Years of handling fractious Shinigami had gifted Tatsumi with the enviable aplomb to handle almost any sort of character. "My name is Tatsumi Seiichiro, Secretary of the Shokan Division. This," he gestured to Hisoka, "is Kurosaki Hisoka. The others are Watari Yutaka, the Shinigami in charge of Kyoto and Tsuzuki Asato, Kurosaki-kun's partner."

At the mention of Tsuzuki's name, Oriya's eyes automatically sought out the elusive man who was hiding in the shadows. Noting the rather lackluster enthusiasm, Oriya's mouth quirked into an ironic smile. 

"And what, pray tell, can I help you with?" Oriya repeated. Hisoka noted that the casual stance had shifted slightly into wariness upon seeing Tsuzuki and it was not lost upon Tatsumi. The secretary frowned slightly before replying.

"We would like to speak with the sensei. We were informed that he is currently your guest and we have several questions for him concerning his activities the past 3 weeks."

Oriya seemed to give their request serious consideration, cocking his head to the side and gazing at them through half-lidded eyes. Hisoka tried to get a feel on Oriya's emotions but like Tatsumi, it was tightly leashed. He could barely detect any play of emotion despite the rather visible annoyance he had shown on their arrival. It was to be expected. He is after all, a gifted swordsman.

He stood there, contemplating them for maybe a couple of minutes before he finally gave a sharp nod.

"Very well. But on several conditions," he rapped out.

Tatsumi lifted an eyebrow. "Them being?"

"You are not to touch or speak to any of my girls. One of them has psychic abilities and I do not want the presence of Shinigamis in this house to disturb her or the others. And," his eyes narrowed dangerously, "there will be no fighting or any sort of violence in the KoKakuRou. From either of you. Muraki is also under the same condition. He may forget at times," his eyes once again fell on Tsuzuki before continuing, "but he does adhere to it. So I expect it from all of you."

Watari snorted delicately. "Not to sound rude but what exactly will stop Muraki from resorting to violence if he feels like it?"

Oriya's smile was more of a baring of teeth than any sort of friendly gesture. "Because I'll be with you with my blade. Make any wrong move and you'll get to feel how sharp I've kept it. Same goes for Muraki. Agreed?"

It was a foregone conclusion. Tatsumi answered for them, his voice crisp and sharp.

"Agreed."

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They were led to the second floor, the part which overlooked another side of the private gardens. The one they came in through was via a back way while this part of the garden actually stretched out into a small grove of trees. It afforded quiet and peace amidst the old Imperial city.

Stopping outside a closed shoji, Oriya indicated for them to wait before the threshold. He rapped sharply on the wooden frame twice before sliding the screen open and even then it was only partway, the view inside blocked by him.

"Kazu?" Oriya's voice was neutral, neither indicating his pleasure or lack of it.

"Yes?" came a faint reply from within.

"You have visitors."

A moment's silence. "You don't really think I wasn't aware of that, did you?" 

Oriya lifted his broad shoulders in a bare shrug. "You want to see them or not?" he demanded irritably. "If you do, I already made them promise that there will be no violence. Same goes for you," he added with a warning note.

Muraki must have given some sort of reply because a moment later, Oriya stepped aside, gesturing them to go on with a stony face. His sheathed katana, which he had picked up on the way upstairs, rested in plain sight on his shoulder, a clear warning.

Single-file, the Shinigami trooped in, Tatsumi leading the way with Tsuzuki practically cringing while bringing up the rear. The room inside was indeed spacious, befitting the status of a close friend of the owner. A quick look assured Tatsumi that it was at least fifteen tatami with a portion closed off with a fusama. And in the room, waiting for them calmly, was their quarry.

Despite his unflappable calm, despite his ability to handle any situation with aplomb, the sight of the silver-haired man was like a slap to his face how he himself had personally failed to protect his colleagues. Tatsumi felt the corner of his lips lifting slightly in the baring of fangs, both literally and metaphorically as the shadows in the corners swirled in sudden agitation.

"Do you really want to test my blade that badly?" A sharp voice intruded.

Tatsumi's control on his emotions were awesome to behold. Even before the reminder died away, the shadows settled back in their natural shapes. His face once again a calm mask, Tatsumi acknowledged the sensei with a sharp nod, one that indicated all hate and no respect.

Muraki was sitting before a low table, the screens to his right opened to let in the night breezes. The table was large enough to accommodate the three of them opposite Muraki with Oriya taking up station at the head of the table with his back against the screens and Watari at the foot. Sitting in the middle, Tatsumi was flanked by Hisoka on his left and Tsuzuki on his right. Tsuzuki was still shivering slightly.

There was an uncomfortable silence that stretched for a few minutes, broken by a serving girl that carried in a tray of cups and a pot of hot tea with her. She settled the tray deferentially on the table with a quick glance first at Muraki, then Oriya, and finally, the restaurant's late-night visitors.

Tatsumi was surprised to note that the look directed to Muraki was not of fear but one of curiosity. 

"Chika-san," Oriya drew her attention away from his rather eclectic guests. "Have the others turned in for the night yet?"

Chika gave him a bright smile. "Hai, Oriya-sama. We've nearly finished cleaning up the dining room as well. Would you like for me to wait outside in case you need anything?"

"That won't be necessary. Go to bed. Tell the others to do so as well."

It must have been some sort of oblique warning for the girl, Chika, threw Oriya a startled look before nodding obediently and withdrawing gracefully from the room.

Throughout the entire exchange, even before they sat themselves down, Muraki had yet to look at them. Instead, his attention seemed to be drawn outside where a fat, full moon was visible, gleaming golden and shedding its liquid light over the tops of the trees. Taking a good look at the sensei, Tatsumi was discomfited to notice that he wasn't in his customary white suit. Despite the fact that it was nearly three in the morning and no one in their right mind would be in a suit when relaxing, he had somehow attributed that white suit to the sensei. It was his 'do-evil' costume. So it did not sit well with Tatsumi having the sensei wearing a dark-blue sweater over a shirt. 

At least the trousers were still white.

"We came here to ask you a few questions," Tatsumi said abruptly. Hisoka, Tsuzuki and Watari jumped at the suddenness of it while Oriya kept his wary vigil. The katana lay lengthwise in his lap.

Muraki finally drew his eyes away from the scenery to face him. He wasn't wearing his glasses, another missing piece of his evil costume, Tatsumi was nearly annoyed to notice. He didn't like people not conforming to his earlier perceptions of them. Without the glasses and the suit, Muraki looked nearly normal. 'Nearly', being the operative word here. He doubted the man would ever look normal with that kind of pale coloring, especially with his scarred eye, barely visible through the long fringe of hair.

Muraki blinked sleepily at him.

That threw Tatsumi into a kilter. He expected a sarcastic rejoinder, some innuendos, maybe even a blatant once-over of Tsuzuki but he did nothing of the sort. His lack of expected reaction were also noticed by Hisoka and Tsuzuki, the latter finally forgetting to tremble in his surprise. Muraki didn't even look at him.

"Couldn't you just call me then?" Muraki asked, his tone almost. . .bored. Indifferent even. "I'm sure it would have saved you a lot of trouble, not to mention you need not have bothered Oriya-san."

Oriya took in the comment in his stride, his eyes still wary but they could see the little grimace that pulled his mouth. 

Tatsumi felt the feral snarl twisting his mouth again. "If I knew that was an option, I would not have bothered. Well?"

"Well what?" Muraki countered, still blinking sleepily. He had taken up his cup and sipped his tea carefully.

"Are you going to answer our questions or not?"

"Depends. If you ever get around to asking them, I probably would."

That was more like Muraki, a certain part of Tatsumi noted with satisfaction but Oriya looked annoyed rather and frowned.

"Could you just cooperate. Kazu?" he snapped. "I would really like it if this meeting would not end in bloodshed. Where's your manners? You'd think your mother didn't-" he stopped suddenly, his face pale.

Muraki's reaction to this was interesting to say the least. Showing the most emotion he had this night, his cheeks flushed even as his lips compressed into a thin line and he brought down his cup with a forceful jerk, nearly slamming the porcelain against the wooden surface of the table.

"My mother taught me a lot of things, Oriya-san. Tell me, what exactly were you referring to?" His voice was calm even as the flush died out and the paleness returned to his face. But Tatsumi couldn't help but wonder.

Oriya didn't reply, instead, his face blanched even further as though he had been struck a blow. Deciding that this little byplay was interesting but not that important, Tatsumi filed it away in his mind for later analysis and instead, brought the 'conversation' back to the previous topic.

"In the past three weeks, there have been over 6 murders in Tokyo. All of them bear your magical signature. Did you kill them?"

Muraki didn't even bother to deny it. His answer was a simple, "Yes. So?"

The Shinigami blinked rather stupidly at the candid admission. They had expected some sort of word war, a play of innuendos and suggestion, maybe a bargain or two for information. They had not expected the outright "Yes. So?"

"So. . ." Tatsumi spluttered, at loss for words. "Your use of magic had brought this case to our attention and. . .and. ."

"And you found your killer," Muraki concluded. "That means, case solved as it no longer falls under your jurisdiction. It's up to the human realm to solve it then. Not to mention the fact that all the souls have moved on."

"How did you know that? That the souls have moved on?" Hisoka spoke up suddenly. His voice was strangely subdued and he was careful to not look directly at Muraki. But his hands were clenched around his cup as though desperately seeking the warmth provided.

"Do you really need to ask, Kurosaki-san?"

Hisoka jerked his face up to meet Muraki's in shock. In all of their meetings, Muraki had always referred to him as 'boy', 'you' or 'that annoying brat'. He had never called him by name before even though he was unfailingly polite whenever he dealt with Tsuzuki. Come to think of it, he still haven't glanced once at his partner.

The other Shinigami were gaping like landed fish, even Tatsumi. It was clear that they were baffled as he was concerning this new side of the sensei. It occurred to him then that this could just be another game. That he was playing with them, playing with their minds. It is his specialty after all. Taking a huge risk, Hisoka extended his empathy towards Muraki, careful to slam his shields back up in an instant's notice.

He found a vast sea of. . . .apathy? Mixed just slightly, very slightly indeed, with a little spark of interest. He was really as indifferent as he was acting?

This new emotion from a man who usually made him feel like retching was surprising to say the least. He stared at Muraki, bewilderment and confusion plain in his expressive green eyes and was totally unprepared when the sensei reached over the table and touched his hand.

________________________________________________________________________

Muraki watched, in a distant corner of his mind, with some amusement as the Shinigami tried to take in this apparently new side of him and fitting it in to what they knew of him before. He supposed he should be making some threats by now, maybe sexually harass Tsuzuki even but he didn't feel like it. Truth to tell, he could barely even look at the amethyst-eyed man.

_Everything.__ . .gone. . . .what else is there for me to live for?_

The boy, Hisoka, had appeared taken aback when he used the boy's name. Granted, he had never accorded the youth much respect. It was hard to when the boy, Hisoka, had acted his age whenever they met. Always quick to anger, always quick to lash out. The impetuosity of youth indeed. He hated that. But since tonight, the boy was actually behaving himself, sitting quietly, albeit a bit pale, and was not dancing around shouting out the injustices and wrongs done to him, then he, Muraki, would give him some respect.

With some interest, he noted the slight glazing to the forest green eyes that indicated whenever his empathy was used. He knew without a doubt that Hisoka was attempting to read him. He wondered how he would react? Would he show the usual fear, hatred and disgust? Would he scramble back in shock or start crying?

Instead, Hisoka looked up at him, his expression evidently startled. And that was it. Pleased, for the boy really had matured, Muraki reached out to place his fingertips lightly against the cuff of the long-sleeved shirt Hisoka was wearing.

And was immediately stopped by a shadow-knife that pressed against his wrist, nearly breaking the skin. At the same instant, Oriya had whipped out his blade, the light reflecting steadily from the point which rested in the hollow of the uptight secretary's neck.

They stayed like that, the four of them like a frozen tableau. It was after a moment of confusion before the blond and Tsuzuki finally took out their ofudas, their target unsure.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Oriya asked through clenched teeth. The question was directed at both Muraki and Tatsumi.

Muraki shrugged, still keeping the light touch against the woven fabric, the hand beneath it still. "I gave you my word that I would not do violence in your place." He didn't dare move his hand away. The shadow-knife was frighteningly steady, applying faint pressure on his skin.

"And you?" Oriya insisted.

Tatsumi snarled wordlessly, not releasing his grip on the obsidian knife. "Do you really think you can trust his word? He's a cold-blooded murderer!"

Oriya flicked his eyes towards Muraki, the look in them questioning. "Kazu?"

Muraki shrugged again. "I said I promised didn't I? I swear it on my life." He said the words casually despite the fact that he had just uttered the words of a binding oath. The air now was charged almost alive with magic, projected by the Shinigami. In such a situation, words tend to take a life of their own and any promises or oath would literally be kept.

"Kurosaki-kun?" Tatsumi asked tersely.

After a long, drawn out silence, Hisoka nodded. Once. A faint smile graced his lips at the acquiescence. He must have surprised the boy more than he had thought to have him agree so readily.

The shadow-knife and the katana were drawn back respectively though each kept a tight hold on their weapons. The two others have yet to pocket their ofudas.

The boy kept his sleeves well-buttoned but Muraki wasn't bothered about that. Hisoka was small for his age and the shirt he wore was a bit too large for him, hanging off his thin frame. Despite the cuff being buttoned, he could slide the sleeve back a few inches, revealing the pale skin underneath.

And the marks of his curse.

He tilted his head to the side inquiringly. It had surprised him, the first time they met after Hisoka became a Shinigami, that his curse would still stay with the boy even after death but it pleased him anyway. The boy was his. It was his right. The marks were still vivid, the bright scarlet a sharp and beautiful contrast against pale, creamy skin. The lines of the spell were sharp and jagged yet flowed with an unearthly grace up both arms and around the torso.

He should know. He had delighted in painting it himself.

Muraki pursed his thin lips thoughtfully, careful to not touch the skin directly but kept his fingers on the sleeve. Hisoka seemed to notice that and if anything, looked even more surprised. He remembered the pleasure he had felt that night. The intoxicating rush from draining a new victim to the feel of the small body trapped writhing underneath him. He remembered also, the way the boy screamed for his mother, his father, anyone. But no one came.

"Do you still hate me?" It was an abysmally stupid question but Muraki felt like asking it anyway. He kept his eyes trained on the visible curse marks. He did not need to look into the wide green eyes to see the hate there. The body was simply trembling with it.

"I loathe you with every fiber in my body."

"Do you want to kill me still?"

Hisoka hissed, his earlier surprise and confusion brushed aside momentarily as the reason why he was here at all were brought back up. "I want to do more than kill you. I want to destroy you!"

Muraki tore his eyes away from the hypnotic lines to stare deep into the boy's eyes. A wistful smile crossed his face. "That must be nice."

The collective jaw-dropping would have had him laughing if he had felt like it. Since he didn't, Muraki drew back suddenly, ignoring the way Tatsumi had tensed in preparation for an attack, and got to his feet. Striding to the balcony and sitting on it, turning his back to them, he said over his shoulder, "Nice of you to come. Now please go. I need some rest."

He kept his eyes on the moon, the indifferent moon, as his guests slowly filed out.

________________________________________________________________________

Hisoka and the others slowly stood up, each not quite believing that they were actually going to walk away from an encounter with Muraki unscathed. Oriya had sheathed his blade, walking impatiently to the door and tapping his foot when the Shinigami were slow to leave. Muraki stayed still on the narrow balcony, looking up to the moon with an almost pensive look. The moon played spotlight on him, adding silver on to silver.

Hisoka had reached the door, the last to leave, when Muraki suddenly spoke up, still not facing them.

"It wasn't red."

Hisoka threw a startled glance back over his shoulder. "What?" he asked without thought.

Muraki turned slightly on his perch till Hisoka could see his normal eye. That eye was shadowed in darkness but there was a questioning air about him, as though Muraki had a puzzling thought and was wondering if Hisoka could clear it.

"The night I killed the girl in Tokyo. The last victim. The moon wasn't red."

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                                                                  **to**** be continued**

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_Kelly says again: Well? Waddaya think? Questions and queries? Feel free to ask. And no flames will be entertained. Do you like the quotes I made? *giggle* I have a nice one from Hakushaku-sama but it's not time yet. My favourite of all the quotes I've made is Muraki's. Anyway, review, reply, re-praise._


	4. Chapter 4:So what if I want to die?

**Why you should never kick Muraki in the balls**

**Chapter Four: So what if I want to die?**

_A story by Kelly_

**_Kelly says: __Ah, sorry for the long wait. Truth to tell, I had this chapter all planned out in my mind but I had to update my other stories that I was seriously neglecting. I still haven't updated my **Chosen One **yet. . .*winces* To anyone reading it, don't worry, I'm not abandoning it. I just need to find the right. . .motivation to do it. Hopefully I'll have the next chapter out by next week. . .*cough* right *cough*._**

**_Summary: __It's nearly a year after the __Kyoto__ Arc and Muraki is slowly losing himself to despair. This is a story about love, angst, humour, rage and why you should never kick Muraki in the balls. All will be explained. Soon._**

**_Pairings: __Not saying._**

**_Warning: __Will contain slash, graphic murders, traumatic recollections and the much-needed angst. Slight OOC. Read at your own risk._**

**_Check out Mystic Shadow's "The Warlock", a Harry Potter fanfic. It's H/D slash and really cool. It's AU but so much fun. Like a Judith McNaught but with magic, angst and (yum) ice-cold blondes._**

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**_Review replies:_**

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**Quotable Quotes From the Questionable Sanity of Kelly:**

_"I don't hate Tsuzuki Asato. Really. I mean, sure, he's a lazy good-for-nothing worthless 6 year-old with more spiritual power than brains. . .and his stomach is more important to him than his appearance, which is as captivating as day-old trash. . .but no, I don't hate him. Seriously."_

_                                                                                                            ~Terazuma Hajime~_

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_I'm so tired of being here_

_Suppressed by all my childish fears_

_And if you have to leave, I wish that you would just leave_

_'Cause your presence still lingers here_

_And it won't leave me alone_

_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time cannot erase_

_~Evanescence "My Immortal"~_

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The instant they arrived in Meifu, Hisoka stalked over to his desk and grabbed the innocuous brown file. It was roughly half an inch thick and it contained all the information of the six murders they were. . .or rather, had been investigating. It was now considered closed as they had found the murderer, and as Muraki had put it, that makes it no longer their jurisdiction. It was not within their power to bring criminals to justice. Their job was to bring restless souls back. Not to punish the guilty.

He ignored the others who had trailed in the office with less enthusiasm than he had shown. Blue and amber eyes were more focused on his partner anyway to notice his sudden agitation. Tsuzuki was still in a state of shock, that he had survived a meeting with Muraki with injuries no worse than being given the cold shoulder. The man wandered over to the coffee machine and as Tatsumi and Watari tactfully tried to enquire as to how he was feeling, he waved off their concern with an absent smile.

"C'mon, Tsuzuki," Watari cajoled. "You're our friend. You can tell us anything."

Tsuzuki forced a smile "I'm fine, really."

"Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi quietly interjected, "All of us can tell that you are _not fine. I'm sorry we had to make you see that. . .bastard," his eyes flashed dangerously, "again, but please, let us help you."_

Hisoka tuned out the rest of what they were saying. He himself had gone through dozens of variations of the same conversation with his partner. All of with met with same success, that is, none. Tsuzuki was determined to wallow in his misery, no matter how many times he had assured him that he was there to listen, to give comfort. Frankly, sometimes Hisoka despaired of his partner trusting him completely. Ever.

The file lay waiting in his hands as he hesitated. In the meeting earlier, he hadn't even looked through it. He hadn't wanted to be assaulted by the nightmare images of Muraki's handiwork. But now he was assailed with the insatiable desire of curiosity.

_Something was wrong with Muraki._

The man they met was not Muraki. It was impossible. The Muraki they knew and hated was a cold, arrogant bastard. Someone who was confident in their own power and charisma. He was a cobra, a deadly yet hypnotizing beauty that drew you in and made you wish with all your heart you could run away. But even as you wish that, you wanted to be drawn in anyway.

But this Muraki. . . .this. . . .Hisoka was confused. That arrogance was missing. So was the habitual sneer that the silver-haired man reserved for him. And where was that lecherous innuendo, the veiled sarcasms and hints?

Decisively, he flipped the folder open. First page was standard, giving background information, duration of current investigation, etc. He turned over to the victims' page. 

First victim. A 17 year old girl. Waist-length blond hair, sea-green eyes.

Second victim. A 15 year old boy. Dirty straw yellow hair. Jade eyes.

Third victim. A 19 year old girl. Blond hair. Green eyes.

Fourth victim. Blond hair. Green eyes.

Fifth. Blond hair. Green eyes.

Sixth. Blond hair. Green eyes.

_Well, I guess now I know why they were rather worried, Hisoka thought, rather dazed and detached. _

All six victims bore a striking resemblance to him in coloring. If it was bait, it would have worked remarkably well. Actually, it had worked, somewhat. Tsuzuki had gone through the file earlier and he had sensed the surge of uneasiness from the man. It was one reason why he refused to look through the file. If it had caused that much distress to Tsuzuki, he figured that to look through it would only add fuel to his nightmares of the man. Tsuzuki, though uneasy, had insisted on going with them to see Muraki after going through the file. Hisoka knew his partner. He would not have wanted more deaths on his conscience, a fact that Muraki understood so well.

So yes, it was the perfect bait. They had even brought Tsuzuki with them. So why didn't Muraki claim his prize? Why go through all the bother of baiting and getting their attention only to disregard it the moment they gave it?

_Maybe.__ . . a little voice from the back of his mind piped up, _maybe it wasn't Tsuzuki he was baiting. . .didn't he practically ignored Tsuzuki then?__

Hisoka **did not **like the implications of what that meant.

"Please," Tsuzuki whispered. "I rather not talk about it. Thank you for caring but I. . .I'm not ready to talk about it yet."

Something inside Hisoka snapped then. Anger flooded through him, hot and burning. And it was all directed at his partner.

He spun around and with the most withering glare he could give, he flung back Tsuzuki's words to his face.

"_You're not ready to talk about it? You're fine? Did it ever occur to you that the more you deny it, the more we're worried about you?! Well?!"_

Tsuzuki gaped at him. So were Tatsumi and Watari. He ignored them in favour of the anger that was still coursing through him.

"You keep everything inside, suffering all this while and whenever someone tries to help you, you push them away!" he shouted. "Did it ever occur to you also that when you do that, they get hurt?! You're not the only one suffering here! Everyone is! What the hell do you think we became Shinigami for!"

"But-I-" Tsuzuki spluttered.

"Look at Tatsumi! And Watari! And everyone else! All of them suffered in their life! Why else are they here! But do you see them moping? Do you see them playing the martyr? No!"

This time though, he was getting a response for his partner. It wasn't the heart-to-heart he had sometimes envisioned but rather, anger too colored his face.

"You're the one to talk!" Tsuzuki spat scathingly. The expression didn't fit well on his features. It was weird seeing something other than feigned joy or sadness on that face. "What about you? I don't see you opening up to me and telling me your problems! You just keep it bottled up inside and damn me for trying to help!"

That did it. The world went alarmingly white as Hisoka tried to control the anger from spilling over to rage. He wasn't very successful at it but he did manage to keep the damages to a minimum. Only one window pane cracked in the blast of power that he failed to control.

He pushed through the still-stunned Tatsumi and Watari, pushing his face close to Tsuzuki and locking his eyes to his.

He hissed, _"And did it ever occur to you, that the reason I didn't trust you with my problems, was because you didn't trust me with yours?! Tell me, how exactly am I supposed to tell you everything when YOU tell me nothing and push me away every time?"_

Tsuzuki faltered first, dropping his eyes away. "I didn't try to push you away. . ." he mumbled. "I just. . . I wasn't ready."

Hisoka laughed bitterly. "Oh really? The what do you call this?" With one sharp movement, Hisoka tore his shirt open, the first few buttons snapping off, revealing the pale skin beneath and the scarlet curse that flared anew in his anger.

And as he expected, Tsuzuki's eyes widened and he stumbled back, looking anywhere but at him.

"I thought so." As quickly as the anger had come, it left him then, leaving him weak and shivery in the aftermath.

"I thought so," Hisoka repeated dully.

"Bon?" A hesitant hand on his shoulder.

He brushed it off, his mind a thankful blank. Tsuzuki still refused to look at him. Without another word, Hisoka walked out of the office and as the doors closed behind him, he could hear Tatsumi and Watari speaking, each hesitant and unsure.

"Tsuzuki? Are you alright?"

"You okay?"

________________________________________________________________________

It was nearing 4 am and the moon had risen high in the sky. So high in fact, that he could no longer see it from his vantage point here on the balcony. But it was okay. The light that fell through was more than enough and he basked in the ethereal glow.

Nighttime was Muraki's favourite. He loved the way moonlight glossed over the harsh edges that sunlight threw into stark relief. At night, every thing looked peaceful, all was beautiful. Even those that were ugly. And it was thanks to the light of an indifferent deity. Some say that the sun is a god, giving life to all beneath it, providing sustenance. He wondered what that meant of the moon. Moonlight does not give you life. It wasn't even real light. It did not provide sustenance. All it provided was beauty. It didn't care about humans nor its trouble. It was just there. 

Muraki liked it for that.

The only warning he got was a faint surge of power and the rustle of feet on tatami. The next thing he knew, he was flying backwards through the air, slamming against the floor so hard that he was momentarily stunned, breath leaving him in a whoosh.

Before he could recover, someone straddled him, someone small and light and he would have thrown off his attacker easily if not for the unmistakable click of a loaded revolver and the cold metal pressing against his neck.

"This is all your fault."

He blinked back the stars in his vision to see Hisoka Kurosaki and if he wasn't mistaken, the boy was piss mad.

"Kurosaki-san," he acknowledged with the lift of an eyebrow. The boy looked rather rumpled, hair in disarray and shirt half-opened. Though the room was dark, he could clearly make out the darker swirls of the curse against gleaming pale skin.

"This is all your fault," Hisoka repeated and the revolver was pressed harder against his throat.

"Pray tell," he drawled. "What exactly _is _my fault? I would like to know the reason as to why I was assaulted."

Hisoka hissed, a surprisingly reptilian sound and leaned close till the edges of his fringe brushed against his cheek.

"Those murders were bait. You wanted to bait Tsuzuki and us. You succeeded. So why didn't you follow through with whatever you were planning with?"

"Who ever said that it was bait?" Muraki replied coolly. "Maybe I was just having fun."

"You never do anything without a reason," he hissed again. "You wanted something from us. From Tsuzuki, or whatever other sick reason you cooked up. You just want to mess with our minds. But guess what?" he smiled sardonically.

"What?"

"You'll fail. Because I am going to kill you."

The revolver was moved from his throat to his forehead, the metal suddenly colder than before as Hisoka reared back, the better to position himself. They must have stared at each other for a few minutes at least, the revolver still jammed against him but as the minutes ticked by, he could feel the fine trembling that took over the boy.

"Why aren't you fighting?" the boy whispered.

A cricket chirped in the intervening lull. Muraki didn't even move a muscle all the while, staying passively beneath Hisoka, his hands slack by his side and his power quiescent in him.

"Why _don't_ you kill me?" he countered back. "That's what you want isn't it? After all, I raped, cursed and kill you. God knows what I did to your precious partner. . .surely it must be easy to pull the trigger? You know you want to," he coaxed.

He had gone too far. A suspicious gleam entered the boy's green eyes and the revolver fell away.

"You _want _to die," he was accused.

"And it looks like I'm not going to," he muttered irritably as Hisoka slowly got off him, the gun hanging loose but ready at his side. Hisoka stood over him, a puzzled look on the boy's face as he continued to lie dispiritedly on the floor. Really, what was the point? Not only did he fail in his quest for revenge, one of his own victims couldn't kill him. How pathetic could he get?

"Well?" he snapped suddenly. "Don't tell me you're going all queasy on me? So what if I want to die? What business is it of yours? You want to kill me so go ahead! Don't tell me you haven't thought about it, you-" 

He broke off as the gun fired and a smoking hole appeared in the floor, millimeters near his right ear.

The metal flashed and wavered in the little moonlight that filtered through. Its owner's hand was trembling as the boy whispered, "Shut up."

It didn't take long for the gunshot to wake the whole household of the KoKakuRou up. He could hear shouts and the pounding of feet and a moment later, the shoji to his room banged open, Oriya framed in the doorway, chest heaving.

"What the-get away from him!"

Oriya darted suddenly into the room, his movements a blur as he pushed Hisoka away, the gun clattering to the floor. Oriya stood protectively over him and Muraki had to smirk at his friend's protectiveness. Hisoka had shown no reaction from being shoved back, only staring at him with those wide green eyes as his hands clutched at his torn shirt, the fingers curling and uncurling in agitation.

"This is all your fault," Hisoka repeated dully.

Muraki got to his feet. Any hopes of dying tonight was gone, what with Oriya here. Brushing back his hair, he pushed past Oriya, a startled exclamation on his friend's lips as he stood before the boy.

"And what exactly is my fault? You never did tell me," he said softly.

"It's all your fault," Hisoka insisted. "He won't talk to me. He won't let me get close. He never will. No one else understands me. Only he could. But he doesn't. You broke him. And I can't fix him. No one can. He won't let us."

Muraki frowned, staring pensively at Hisoka. The boy was in some shock, if the glazing of his eyes and the dull monotone to his words were any indication. Not that he cared. But he was somewhat intrigued.

"You had a fight with Tsuzuki, didn't you?" he surmised. "But I have to correct you on one thing."

Hisoka raised his head, meeting his eyes challengingly as some of the glaze lifted.

"I didn't break Tsuzuki," he smiled mirthlessly. "I never did. He was broken long before I met him. I only helped to reveal it."

Those were the last words spoken between them before with a shimmer, Hisoka disappeared from his room.

                                                          *******************

                                                               **to**** be continued**

**                                                          *********************

**_Kelly says: __*Cough* To all Tsuzuki-Fans, please don't kill me! There is a reason for their fight. Understand this; how would you feel if every time you tried to help some one you love, you're pushed away? Consider the fact that they both went through roughly the same thing, with the same man. Tsuzuki was the first to ever break through Hisoka's wall and when he tried to help him, he was rejected. You could see the hurt in the __Kyoto_ Arc, that morning after Tsuzuki's meeting with Muraki when he hinted that he knew why Tsuzuki killed himself.__**

_Another reason is that I feel there's just too much Tsu-angst out there. To do one would basically mean I'm parroting the other authors out there. Plus, I think they do Tsu-angst better than me anyway._

_Well, tell me what you think anyway *grin*. It was rather bad of Muraki, taking the easy way out like that. Why did he want Hisoka to kill him instead of him just committing suicide? Because. . . . next chapter!!!  XD_

_Don't forget to check out Mystic Shadow! And tell me if you want to get e-mail notices of my updates!_


	5. Chapter 5:Truth hurts

**Why you should never kick Muraki in the balls**

**Chapter Five: Truth hurts**

_A story by Kelly_

**_Kelly says: _**_well, a new chapter. Whew. You know, I still have no idea how long this story will be. . .ah well._

**_Summary: _**_It's a year after the __Kyoto__ Arc and Muraki is slowly losing himself to despair. Witness the repercussions._

**_Pairings: _**_Not saying_

**_Warning: _**_None as yet for this chapter_

**_Review replies:_**

**_Lothlorien_****_, Literary Eagle, sage, sadi: _**_Any review (kind ones), no matter how short they are, gives me a warm glow. (^.^)_

**_DK-Adeena: _**_Ah, actually, that's the only conversation Muraki and Hisoka had in that chapter. But no worries, they WILL talk more on that little subject. . .in all KINDS of interesting situations. . . ._

**_EmpressXu_****_: _**_I love it, picturing Muraki finally losing it and wanting to off himself. Unfortunately, I don't think Oriya would be too pleased about that. . .*giggle* And it's my pleasure to make you guys happy._

**_Eria_****_: _**_ah, one my favourite reviewers! Really, the sheer length of your reviews make me giggle in happiness! *giggle* See! I'm doing it again! And thank you for giving this story a try. It's funny really, coz I did the title like it is to draw people's attention. I seem to get two reactions to it; one is that they get interested, another is that people just run away in the other direction. . .interesting. . .Oh, and if you're hoping for Tsu x Soka fluff in here. . . .gomen! Heheh!_

**_Shaynie_****_: _**_Ah, I am not worthy of the title sempai (or even '-sama') !!! I'm such a newbie at this comparatively and there's just so many better writers out there who can make this story as great as it's supposed to be! But don't stop calling me that. I like it. *giggle* And here, in this chapter, you'll get to see what are the effects of Hisoka's little nighttime romp. Oooh. . .romp. . . .hmm. . . _

**Quotable Quotes From the Questionable Sanity of Kelly**

****

_"You try getting cooped up in a drafty mansion with a zombie for company for all eternity and we'll see how lecherous you get!"_

_                                                                                                               ~Hakushaku-sama~_

**                                                                          **************

                                                                  _Don't know who to trust_

_                                                                             No surprise_

_                                                           Everyone feels so far away from me_

_                                                   Heavy thoughts sift through dust and the lies_

_                                                                      Trying not to break_

_                                                              But I'm so tired of this deceit_

_                                                            Every time I try to make myself_

_                                                                   Get back up on my feet_

_                                                                All I ever think about is this_

_                                                                All the tiring time between_

_                                                      And how trying to put my trust in you_

_                                                             Just takes so much out of me_

_                                                           ~Linkin Park "From the Inside"~_

                                                                           ************

_It was a case like any other._

_A restless spirit, not moving on when his time came.__ It always tore his heart that the majority of the unquiet shades were mostly children; young souls torn abruptly from life to spin confused and wanting, lost between the worlds. He and Tsuzuki had done what was necessary. They had tracked the elusive spirit down to its favoured place when still encased in living, breathing flesh._

_The playground.___

_The rusted swing swayed slowly back and forth. To the ordinary eye, it might have been due to a playful wind. If there had been any. To the Shinigami, it was the one they had come to find. A little boy taken from his mother's side all because he had not heeded his mother's cry to stay off the road when chasing a runaway ball._

_Now little Akira haunted the playground. Unable to move forward nor back, chained to this place due to his loneliness, misery and confusion._

_Hisoka__ had allowed Tsuzuki to do the talking and cajoling. He was better at that. Hisoka, though barely out of his teens, felt out of his depth when it came to giving comfort to a young, lonely child. He had been a young, lonely child himself. No one had come to comfort him. Could he be blamed for not knowing how to give that needed comfort himself?_

_Children trusted Tsuzuki. Within an hour, they had sent the little boy off to where he was destined to be and his name was duly recorded in the Castle._

_The night was still young. At least, that was what Tsuzuki claimed. Why not have dinner here on Chijou and use the room Tatsumi had booked for us? It'll be such a shame to waste all of Tatsumi's effort in procuring them a room and giving them the day's expenditure now would it?_

_Hisoka__, like any other child, gave in to those wide, brimming amethyst eyes as Tsuzuki well knew he would. Dinner was taken in a small restaurant, the kind more suited to a romancing couple than two partners who deal in death. Yet Tsuzuki insisted on that restaurant. Said that they had the best chocolate parfaits in town and Hisoka is so kind, surely he won't let Tsuzuki _suffer _so needlessly when heavenly parfait is within their grasp?_

_Hisoka__ fervently ignored the little looks sent their way by the other patrons. Those who appeared to be too lost gazing in their beloved eyes were just that; appearances. They could not hide their emotions and thoughts from an empath with telepathic powers. The blush that graced his cheeks were a combination between the unspoken comments that wondered on the innocence of two young, healthy, good-looking males dining together in a romantic restaurant and the way Tsuzuki ate the parfaits._

_He was a (mentally and emotionally) growing boy after all._

_They had done little that day besides tracking down little Akira yet Hisoka insisted that they go back to the hotel after dinner. Shielding his mind from the bombardment of prying curiosities all night long left him with a headache. Tsuzuki, dense as he was, knew when to push his partner and when to desist. He graciously agreed and little time was spent chatting as they made ready for bed._

_The lights were turned off, bodies nestled comfortably underneath thin sheets on separate beds. Breathing slowed to a soft murmur in the darkness of the room, relieved only by the occasional glare from the headlights of a passing car. Hisoka must have counted a thousand sheep at least yet he still failed to fall under Morpheus's spell. Tsuzuki had no such trouble. The instant his head touched the pillow, he was out like a light._

_Hisoka__ envied him that ability. He always found it hard to sleep in a completely darkened room. Back at his apartment, he slept with a nightlight on. The dark scares him. It brought to mind the echoes of memories best long-forgotten yet never could. Of water dripping from an unseen pipe, the endless drip drip drip which at times, convinced a twelve year old Hisoka that he was going insane. Of the distant scuttle and squeak of a rat, for which a nine year old Hisoka would dare not fall asleep lest the monstrous rat ate his toes and his eyes._

_But Tsuzuki didn't know that. Not his fault exactly. Hisoka refused to tell anyone of his weakness. And that was what it was; a weakness. Scared of the dark. To him, no matter what the reason, scared of the dark is scared of the dark. And he refused to show any weakness in front of his partner. It was bad enough that Tsuzuki had to constantly look after him on missions, he was not about to let it become a 24-hour job. Let him deal with his fears by himself. If that meant that he would get only three hours of sleep on missions, then so be it._

_So Hisoka stared up into a shadowy ceiling that played a mime of moving puppets and roaring monsters even as he convinced himself that that drip drip dripping is from a loose tap in the bathroom and not from a dusty cellar that haunted his dreams._

_It must have been past two in the morning, Hisoka as yet wide awake, when Tsuzuki stirred in restless slumber. It was always best to let Tsuzuki sleep off his nightmares if it was just the mumbling, shifting type. But when he started whimpering, Hisoka knew better than to let his partner stay lost in conjured memories. In a move that spoke of long practice, Hisoka slid easily off his bed to cross the small distance between them. Sitting on the edge of the thin mattress, he shook Tsuzuki's shoulder and in a comforting voice, called him back from the nightmares._

_The blurred amethyst irises always took a couple of minutes to sort itself from this reality and the one it left behind. He always stayed till the transition took place before going back to his own comfortless bed. But tonight, before he could do so, Tsuzuki gripped his wrist in a pleading gesture. No words were spoken but Hisoka knew what he wanted._

_With a little sight, to show his feigned irritation, and a little smile, to show his sincerity, Hisoka disengaged that trembling hand and slid under the covers with him. Tsuzuki edged aside, making room for him and the two partners laid on their sides, looking into each other's obscured faces._

_A still moment.__ A suspended minute._

_Hisoka__ could not say exactly what happened. From staring into dark purple eyes and wondering whether he'd be able to sleep at all tonight, he found himself locked in a fervent embrace with a man he had secretly desired yet feared to touch._

_It was a dream came true and a nightmare made real._

_Their kisses were hesitant and unsure at first; both relatively new at this but each made it up in their enthusiasm. Wandering hands traced curved eyebrows and pale cheeks. Shy, pink lips tasted salty sweet skin and fluttering lashes. It was Tsuzuki who made the first bold move, if starting the kiss in the first place is not considered bold by itself._

_The older man had started to unbutton the shirt he wore to bed, fingers fumbling yet surely exposing more and more skin. They were still enjoying the heady drug of sweet kisses, more so for Hisoka who craved a human touch so when the kiss broke off, presumably for Tsuzuki to do other, more interesting things, Hisoka delighted himself in the waiting for more pleasurable torment._

_None came._

_Puzzled, a little apprehensive, he opened his eyes to see Tsuzuki staring down past his chin to his opened shirt. Those eyes held shock. Fear. And disgust._

_There was no need for Hisoka to see what held Tsuzuki's attention. What else is there on his exposed skin but the marks of the scarlet curse wending its way down innocent flesh? He saw it every morning, had even, at a certain point, grew used to it._

_But not apparently, Tsuzuki.__ Supposedly you can't really blame him for the shock. After all, Hisoka made sure that nobody saw the marks, ever. He was careful to always wear collared shirts or turtlenecks. That would account for the shock then._

_But not the fear.___

_Never that.___

_Nor the disgust.___

_Surely not that.___

_Hisoka__ had stilled like a frightened deer, unwilling to acknowledge what his eyes and mind and empathy screamed at him. That Tsuzuki could not bear the sight of him. Yet reality is harsh. Cruel._

_Tsuzuki did something then that hurt him far beyond twisted wires of human hair ever did._

_Tsuzuki showed his back to him. Cuddled in a ball on the far side of the bed, Tsuzuki turned away from him._

_They never mentioned that night's incident since._

________________________________________________________________________

The next day started as it usually did.

The sun rose.

Hisoka wished that the sun would go drown itself in an arctic pool. A migraine and a throbbing back is not a pleasant way to start one's day but apparently, today's one of those days. It could not be helped also that last night, he fell asleep slumped on the kitchen table, his lone bottle of liquor drained to the dregs.

Persistent as always, that voice which most people have, whose job is to remind you what an idiot you are, asked him plaintively what the hell he was thinking of, visiting a well-known killer cum rapist cum powerful sorcerer armed with only a 9 millimeter revolver?

"What the _hell _were you thinking of last night, Kurosaki-kun?"

The ire in that voice was unmistakable, as well as the unquestioned note of authority that demanded an answer.

Lifting his head from its support of interlocked hands that tried to stop his brains from oozing out of his ears, Hisoka saw that Tatsumi was planted opposite his desk, glare a notch higher than usual and a frown creasing his smooth forehead. The glasses were flashing not unlike summer lightning that strikes without warning.

"Ungh," was his reply. His mouth was as dry as cotton and his tongue wrapped in fur and wool. 

The insistant shadow in front of him leaned forward and sniffed suspiciously.

"Kurosaki Hisoka, have you been _drinking_?" the question promised him hell should he answer 'yes' yet promised him hell as well should he try to lie.

Since his vocabulary was limited to one-word replies, necessitated by his leaking head, Hisoka said, "Yes."

A sigh, a rustle of cloth and Hisoka found himself gently guided out of his chair, out of the staffroom and into a familiar place. The infirmary.

"I'm just hung over, not sick!" Hisoka crossed his arms in irritation and tried to glower at the secretary. His glower was spoiled by the firm hand that seated him on a neatly made bed and a glass of water and two tablets of painkillers handed to him in neat succession. Knowing better than to defy Tatsumi when he was in _that _mood, Hisoka took the painkillers without protest. But after setting down the glass with a curt 'thank you', Tatsumi's direct question ensured that he won't be leaving anytime soon.

"What the hell were you thinking of last night?"

Hisoka scowled. "I'm just tired of coddling him, alright? It doesn't matter how many times you try to convince him that you're willing to listen. Tsuzuki is determined to wallow in his misery and I'm sick and tired of watching him act all martyred over it. I don't have the time to pamper him. I got my own problems," he ended viciously.

Unaware, in his little tirade, Hisoka had jumped to his feet, emphasizing each point with flailing hands. Realizing that Tatsumi was sitting down calmly, taking in his outburst with unflappable calm, Hisoka snapped his mouth shut and sat back down abruptly, his face flushing.

"While I am interested to know why you were so abrupt last night," was Tatsumi's controlled reply, "I was actually referring to something else. Not that I minded the little revelation you gave," he said wryly.

Hisoka's face flushed deeper and he refused to look Tatsumi in the eyes. Preferring to stare at the cracked linoleum tiling instead, he muttered, "Well?"

"I was interested to know why you felt the need to pay a solitary visit to the sensei last night."

Hisoka started, his head whipping around so fast, he nearly got whiplash. The look on Tatsumi's face was as controlled as the rest of him but blue eyes flashed with anger and annoyance that was no less furious for the fact that it was silent. He swallowed and forgo asking how Tatsumi knew.

After a strained silence that threatened to snap in their faces, Hisoka grudgingly gave his answer. "I wanted to kill the bastard, okay? I think I have the right to do that, considering how he screwed up my life. Not to mention Tsuzuki's," he added.

"With only your gun?"

"How the hell did you know that?" Hisoka asked in stunned amazement.

"I am the Secretary of this Division," Tatsumi barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "I can't help _but _know when one of our employees decide to visit a well-known dangerous criminal without backup nor protection." The tone was nearly inflectionless yet Hisoka winced anyway at the censure implied within.

"I wasn't thinking straight," Hisoka muttered to the floor.

"You weren't thinking at all," Tatsumi corrected him.

"Oh, so is _that _how it is?!" Hisoka had jumped to his feet again and was yelling now, conveniently forgetting his sore head. "When it's Tsuzuki we're all sweetness and light! Are you _alright _Tsuzuki? Are you _okay_? Would you like some _cakes_? When it comes to me, it's you were going against department regulations, Kurosaki! You weren't thinking, Kurosaki! You were being childish, Kurosaki! _Is that it?!_"

"Because you're stronger than Tsuzuki is, Hisoka-san."

The unexpected answer and the heretofore never used form of his name silenced him as effectively as cold water splashed. Mouth gaping slightly, Hisoka sank back on the bed.

"Excuse me?" he asked dumbly.

Tatsumi sighed and removed his glasses. Rubbing the bridge of his nose in a tired gesture, Tatsumi closed his eyes briefly, as though pained. His eyes were a shadowed cerulean when he next opened them, memories and remembrances darkening the light hue.

"I have been serving the Shokan for nearly as long as Tsuzuki has, Hisoka-san," Tatsumi began slowly, his glasses twirling forgotten in his hands. "I have seen him happy, sad, angry, depressed. . . .I have seen him go through partners like one goes through laundry. I know him nearly as well as anyone can, anyone he lets close. He has demons, Hisoka-san. And his demons haunt him every waking minute."

"Everyone has demons," Hisoka whispered. His own a demon in an angel's disguise.

"I am not trying to belittle your problems, Hisoka-san," Tatsumi sighed. "Nor anyone else's. We all have our own share of secrets and we deal with it as best as we can. As does Tsuzuki. But he has been drowning in his past for too long. He has been a Shinigami for too long. With every death, every case, he just sinks deeper and deeper. And he has been in despair even before death. He is weary, Hisoka-san."

A hand crossed his field of vision and gently tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet the man's eyes. Hisoka had braced himself for an influx of emotion when skin met skin but all he felt was a small wave of shared anguish and sorrow; even those were quickly controlled despite the fact that pain laced Tatsumi's every word.

"You, Hisoka-san, are tougher than you look," Tatsumi smiled briefly. "I daresay that your own demons have strengthened you as well. I know you're trying to cope with it as best as you can but you have to accept the fact that not everyone can be as strong as you are. Not even Tsuzuki."

Which truth was a bitter pill to swallow. Yet swallow he must. For Tatsumi _was _ speaking the truth. He could see it in the glass-hard determination in purple eyes, determination that is so easily broken by each death they face, each lost soul crying for mercy. Tsuzuki, though not the empath, felt too much. More so than himself cursed with the ability to do just that. And the cost came at the slow unraveling at the edges as each thread that makes up Tsuzuki Asato is slowly, but surely torn away from the weave.

_I didn't break him. I never did. I only helped to reveal it._

A shudder rocked his thin frame. Without further ceremony, Hisoka found himself chivvied under the warm covers of the bed, a little disoriented at Tatsumi's near inhuman efficiency.

"Stay here," Tatsumi said gently. "Rest for a while. When you feel better, feel free to join us. Otherwise, consider yourself excused for the day."

Grateful, more than a little relieved, Hisoka nodded. He couldn't face Tsuzuki. Not yet. 

Not when the truth was still too new and too hurtful. 

________________________________________________________________________

_To summon a demon of Makai, one must have the proper sacrifice. The sacrifice must appease the demon's hunger for flesh and power lest it breaks the circle in anger and devours you in the sacrifice's stead._

_Keep in mind that the more powerful the sacrifice is, the more the demon is in your debt and service._

Closing the book, 'Demon Summoning For Dummies' with a snap, bright and slightly insane brown eyes danced in chortled glee. The innocuous eyes and totally forgettable face was lit up in anticipation and pleasure as he considered who would be a fitting meal for a demon.

A name crossed his twisted mind. A name mentioned in circles that if polite society ever got wind of, polite society would have a collective heart failure. These circles numbered of people who fancied themselves sorcerers, warlocks. . . .magician. Whatever that floats your boat. Those who think that they know all there is to know of magic and onmyoujitsu, claim that there is a man who seemed to live forever. Armed with the darkest magicks, this man was a living legend, held in the highest regard by those who think magicks are as easy as drawing a circle, writing a few funny words and wearing the appropriate costume, scorning the so-called 'New Age' as political diatribe.

The unremarkable man giggled. Yes, he knew the man, having stumbled upon a rite the man held one in an unmarked grove in the city park. He had barely escaped with his life, chased by a serpentine dragon. 

Surely such a sacrifice would ensure that any demon he called would be bound to him forever?

Still giggling, he flipped open a phone book to the 'M' pages. Dirty yellowed finger traced the typed kanjis until he came to one name.

'Muraki Kazutaka.'

He giggled again.

                                                                            ************

**                                                                           to be continued**

                                                                           *************

_A/N: Ah. . . what on earth am I doing to Tsuzuki. . . .and since it's me, there's the inevitable OC introduced. No worries, he's not a central role. Review, ne? And can anyone tell me what's Muraki's mom's name is?_


	6. Chapter 6:Insane is insaneSick is sick

**Why you should never kick Muraki in the balls**

**Chapter Six: Insane is insane. Sick is sick.**

_A story by Kelly_

**_Kelly says:__ Stupid Blaster-worm. I curse the one who invented it. Do you realize you just ruined my registration for next semester's subject??!! What if my results were lost????!!! If you wanna target Microsoft, why not just destroy the company's computers specifically?? Why the hell do you have to target Microsoft users??? Most of us are just laymen who use Microsoft simply because it's what everyone else uses and that there's no other options! Argh!_**

_*cough*_

_Sorry about that._

**_Summary: __It's nearly a year after the __Kyoto__ Arc and Muraki is slowly losing himself to despair. This is a story about love, angst, humour, rage and why you should never kick Muraki in the balls. All will be explained. Soon._**

**_Pairings: __Not saying._**

**_Warning: __Will contain slash, graphic murders, traumatic recollections and the much-needed angst. Slight OOC. Read at your own risk._**

**_Review replies:_**

**_Eria_****_: _**_@ .__ @_

**_Spiget_****_, DK-Adeena, Darkmaster, Yui-mag: _**_Wan, I love lovely reviews ^^_

**_Nel_****_: _**_To answer your question, you must first answer my questions below ~.^_

**_Shaynie_****_: _**_Shaynie__-san! Your email addy bounces back! How come? And please, I'd love your help with my blog!_

**_Literary Eagle, Twylise: __Yes, Muraki all tied up. . . .ah. . .actually, you'll probably get an inkling here why Muraki needs Hisoka to kill him. Or you might not get it at all. Coz dear Mu-chan is a little. . . .shall we say, confused?_**

**Quotable Quotes From the Questionable sanity of Kelly:**

_"I know what people are saying. They're saying that my obsession with a gender-changing formula is a sign of repressed sexual desires with a more than healthy share of S&M. . . . . .it's kinda true actually."_

_                                                                                                                    ~Watari Yutaka~_

________________________________________________________________________

_                                                                       Catch me as I fall_

_                                                     Say you're here and it's all over now_

_                                                               Speaking to the atmosphere_

_                                                         No one's here and I fall into myself_

_                                                          This truth drives me into madness_

_                                                  I know I can stop the pain if I will it all away_

_                                                    Don't turn away (don't give in to the pain)_

_                                         Don't try to hide (though they're screaming your name)_

_                                       Don't close your eyes (god knows what lies behind them)_

_                                               Don't turn out the lights (never sleep never die)_

_                                                                ~Evanescence "Whisper"~_

________________________________________________________________________

He does his best planning at night.

The schemes that his devious mind hatched up were not for the faint-hearted. Gifted with the enviable yet frightening ability to form complete and whole pictures from disparate strands, plots and machinations that could destroy the world had been thought up while lying innocuously in bed.

But tonight was not such a night.

No, Muraki, lying under the warm covers of the futon did not hatch any schemes nor plotted world domination.

He wondered instead, how he managed to sink to a level so low, his only bright and fervent wish is to die.

It had taken hours for the KoKakuRou to settle down after the bouya's little show. More time had to be spent to assuage Oriya's outright interrogation on who was responsible for provoking the boy to such degrees. His denials, given in bored monotones, did little to assure his friend. Yet after long silences filled only with the restless babble of the geishas did Oriya finally relented, leaving him to his peace.

So now he lay, on a thick, comfortable futon, the screens still left wide open despite the chill breeze of dawn and wondered. He wondered why he wanted to die. What ever happened to that bright shear of delight that filled him when he saw his little dolls in that dingy alley that day? Seeing the two of them fighting the oni had served to feed the dying flames of his obsession with power and death. Fueled by that rush, he had gone out and killed his first victim in 6 months.

And he was _happy_. The throb of ebbing life force spilling into him, the more real gush of warm blood soaking his hands, the death rattle of a young man who met his fate with wide, surprised eyes. . . .Muraki had rejoiced then. He thought that finally, _finally_, he was able to shake off despair's dark shadow. That he could once again, be _himself_.

But there is much to be said about denial.

He had gone on to the next victim with pure relish like an addict given another shot. But this addict was unpleasantly surprised to find that the rush he expected wasn't there. Oh, he was still excited, yes. But that was it. Even as he drank in the effervescent life force, the only emotion he could dredge up was boredom. All he could think about was _what's taking her so bloody long to die?_

_Those murders were bait. You wanted to bait Tsuzuki and us. You succeeded. So why didn't you follow through with whatever you were planning with?_

He froze suddenly, the hissed accusation from the boy ringing sharp in his ears.

What _was _his purpose in killing those people? To affirm his hold on life despite his every wish for it to not be so? To once again be the Muraki Kazutaka that was the bane of the Shinigami?

He shifted restlessly under the covers. He could not deny the death wish that plagued his every waking moment. He had expected it even. The entirety of his adult life was spent finding ways to exact the ultimate revenge on the monster that ruined his life. To have that driving force taken so abruptly away was to destroy his purpose of living. The only reason he had yet to take a knife to himself was Oriya. He could not kill himself in cold blood like that. Not when to do so would hurt Oriya. He loved his friend too much to do that. Not when Oriya was the only one to ever love him despite the monster that he became. All in order to kill another monster.

_You'll fail. Because I am going to kill you._

Long, pale fingers spasm, clutching silver white hair tight and tugging ferociously as though the pain would drive the words and memories away. Curling up into a tight ball, Muraki tugged and tugged, not even caring when snapped strands started to drift down to lie like silver threads on the futon. The paradox that he had put himself into infuriated him.

He wanted to die.

Yet he killed more people, drinking their essence which was how he prolonged his life and increased his power in the first place.

But he still wanted to die.

So he killed more people.

Thus attracting the Shinigami's attention.

But when it did occurred, all he wanted was for them to leave him alone.

But he _still want to die_.

But he can't kill himself. That would make Oriya sad.

So he provoked the boy, Hisoka. Goading him into pulling the trigger.

_But he still wasn't dead._

Absurdly enough, a poem he read long ago drifted through his mind. _I find this world to be easily distressed, yet I cannot fly, for I am not a bird._

The sun was a fiery corona, burning the morning sky. Like a well-oiled machine, the restaurant came awake, serving the regular patrons that visited the place for more mundane reasons such as breakfast. The upper stories this side of the restaurant was quiet since it only housed the owner's quarters and the occasional special guest. When a certain albino guest is in residence, everyone knew better than to interrupt him with invitations to eat or even to clean his room.

So nobody witnessed the wreck that was Muraki as he tried to make sense of his own mind.

________________________________________________________________________

By 2.30, Oriya had gotten extremely worried.

Muraki was by no means a heavy sleeper. He tended to awake with the coming of dawn, the only times he'd get up late was after being out all night. Even then the latest he'd wake up was at eleven. So when 2.30 rolled by and still not a peep was heard from the main guest suite, Oriya got a little. . .agitated. After asking in the kitchens, he'd found out that no meal had been sent to Muraki's room nor did his friend asked for one. After also making sure that no, Muraki had yet to even step out of his room, Oriya, armed with a laden tray and a heavy heart, picked his way carefully to Muraki's room.

The caution he took with every step was almost laughable. If one didn't know any better, it would appear as though the room he approached contained a raging chimera instead of a friend who just woke up late. Stopping outside the as yet closed shoji (Muraki cherished his privacy like a squirrel cherished his nuts), Oriya balanced the tray nervously between suddenly sweaty hands and wondering, for the thousandth time, why he put up with the man.

"'Riya-chan? Whatcha' doin'?"

Startled, Oriya let out an oath, nearly upsetting the tray. A small hand had grasped his kimono and was tugging in childish impatience. At his accidental epithet though, a birdlike giggle came somewhere near his knee.

"Mama says that's a bad word!" came the triumphant crow. "'Riya-chan used a bad word!"

The solid wood column seemed a tempting thing to bash his head against. Sighing, Oriya looked down and gave the little giggling sprite a strained smile.

"Eri-chan," he sighed again. Little Eri was the daughter of a faithful patron of the KoKakuRou, a Ikegami Shimpei, one of the few people who have yet to discover the other side of the elegant restaurant, coming instead for the polite, attentive service and quality food. Oriya much preferred it that way. Having people who are innocent of the restaurant's major profit venture help him keep his somewhat shaky faith in the goodness of the world. Ikegami's family was one of it. The first time the family came, together with little Eri, the 7 year old had taken an immediate liking to Oriya, exclaiming that 'Riya-chan' is really pretty. Like a rambunctious puppy, she had also taken up the delightful, if somewhat trying habit of trailing him around, using his long hair as a guide and when the occasion warrants it, an attention-getter.

Normally though, he never let the girl follow him up to the second floor, where the geishas keep their quarters, and especially not _this wing of the second floor. As much as he loved Muraki, he also _knew _Muraki. He preferred Eri alive, hale and healthy. Not broken, bleeding or dead. The other workers must have not noticed her. When it suited her, Eri could be quiet as a shadow. Usually when she was up to no good._

"Eri-chan" he tried. "You know you shouldn't be up here."

He was cheerfully ignored in favour of the closed shoji.

"What's inside, 'Riya-chan? And why you taking food in here? Is someone sick?"

"Why _are _you, Eri-chan. Mind your grammar."

"'Kay. Why _are _you taking food inside? Is someone sick?"

She also had a one-track mind sometimes.

"It's nothing, Eri," he said hurriedly. "Why don't you go back down? Your parents must be loo-"

Too late. With all the innocent naivety, guilelessness and bravado of someone too young, she had slid the shoji open. And Oriya, laden as he was with the tray could do nothing to stop her.

Oriya managed to restrain the string of colorful descriptives that would have Eri shrieking in delight. Heart pounding, mouth dry, Oriya hurried in after her, jostling the tray and nearly upsetting the miso.

"Eri-chan!" he hissed in panic. "Get out of. . .here. ." his mouth dropped open in slack-jawed surprise.

Eri was bouncing on Muraki's unmade futon, the man himself still under the covers though sitting up and eyeing the energetic bundle on his knees with something akin to dazed surprise. What had Oriya gaping in astonishment was Muraki's less than stellar appearance.

Damn, Muraki looked like hell.

His shirt was rumpled beyond salvation and his hair a veritable mess of flyaway silver-white mop. But what really got Oriya's attention was the parchment-like hue of Muraki's once fair skin, the dark purple shadows that colored underneath his eyes and that spots of blood were dotted all over his hair. The reason became apparent a moment later as his eyes fell on clumps of hair, glimmering in sunlight and strewn like silver threads all over the covers of his futon.

"Shit," he whispered softly. All unnoticed, Oriya hurriedly put the tray down and tried to think of a way to approach his apparently unstable friend while still keeping his own skin intact and Eri preferably alive.

As Oriya fretted in a most un-Oriya-like manner in a corner, Eri bounced and asked Muraki, which in Oriya's opinion meant she had signed her death warrant, "Are you sick?"

________________________________________________________________________

"Are you sick?" Bounce bounce bounce.

Oriya cringed and waited for. . . .something. His body was tensed for action; either to run and snatch Eri up to safety, fight off Muraki or maybe even plead for Eri's life. But his worries appeared unfounded for the moment.

Muraki, instead of snatching Eri off into a whirl of white light or even killing her outright, blinked slowly and said, hesitantly, "I'm. . .sick?" He brought up a pale, trembling hand, covering his scarred eye which thankfully, was blanketed under a fall of hair.

"Yeah! Yeah!" Bounce bounce. "Are you? 'coz when I'm sick, mama always bring me food up and 'Riya-chan got you food too so you gotta be sick right? Are you are you?"

A bewildered shake of the head, tossing the already messy hair this way and that. "I think I'm insane, not sick."

Eri appeared puzzled by the rather weird admission while Oriya worked himself up into a full scale panic.

"How can you tell that you're insane?" Eri demanded. "If you're insane, how can you know you're insane? If you're insane, you're insane. I don't think you can still say that you're insane coz then you'd just be doing insane stuff and not sitting around saying you're insane!"

And it seemed also, that Muraki, holding a degree in medicine with a head full of arcane knowledge and enough power to summon up demons from other dimensions, had been stumped by a 7 year old.

"I'm not. . .insane?" he tentatively tried, as though waiting for confirmation from the little girl currently shaking her head at what she thought was a display of alarming idiocy for an adult.

"Of course you're not insane!" Eri rolled her eyes dramatically and giggled, patting Muraki's head, in Oriya's opinion, rather condescendingly. "I think you're just sick," she nodded to herself. "Aha, sick. Coz you don't look well. If you're insane you won't be sitting here and _saying _you're insane, right?"

It was obvious that Muraki was supposed to agree with her. Timidly, he nodded also and eyed the little bouncing girl with fresh confusion. "I'm. . .sick?" he tried once again.

"Very good." Another pat. "So you gotta eat so that you'd get better, okay?"

Another timid nod.

"'Kay! I gotta go now! Mama's gonna get mad if I'm gone too long! Get well soon, ne?" With another last pat, another last bounce and a last giggle, Eri shot up, waved goodbye to the stunned Oriya and ran out of the room.  Oriya waited until the last echoes of tiny feet pounding down the stairs faded before turning to Muraki.

His friend still had a somewhat bemused look on his face, compounded by the rapid blinking.

"Kazu?" Oriya asked, hesitant. "Are you alright?"

Muraki shut his eyes briefly and opened them again, the confusion not even diminished slightly. Strangely, hope was mixed in with the confusion. "She said I'm not insane," was his reply.

"Ah. . .right."

"I'm sick so I have to eat."

"Ah. . . ."

Muraki ran out of words then, staring down at his clenched hands on top of the covers as though he had never seen his hands before. The torn strands of hair still littered the covers and futon like so many silver gilt and he picked at them absently.

"I had a headache," he said by way of explanation. 

"I understand," Oriya said soothingly. He brought the tray over, setting it to the side carefully. He lifted the black, lacquered bowl of miso soup and placed it gently in Muraki's hand. "Eat up," he smiled softly. "You have to get better right?"

Muraki nodded and began taking careful sips of the hot soup. The rest of the food was finished in silence as Muraki ate slowly, almost mechanically and Oriya, with the utmost tender care, wiped the spots of blood away.

                                                                       ******************

**                                                                            to be continued**

                                                                       ******************

_A/N: I love Muraki. Have I ever told you guys I love Muraki? Well I do. I love the guy. I don't love his methods of torture and killing but I do love the force and charisma that is so much a part of his makeup. But. . .that force and charisma seems to be missing in this chapter. A rather adorably lost and confused Muraki is what we have instead. Aah. . .still love the man._

_Help me out here people; I'm not sure when to end this story. As usual, please vote and this time, I promise I'll let you guys know the result! ^^_

**_Q1: When should the story end?_**

_a) After you guys find out what I mean when I say why you should never kick Muraki in the balls._

_b) Continue on my merry way and maybe, make Muraki a Shinigami? It's an interesting concept, as evinced by **Evil Asian Genius**'s "The First Death"._

_c) Crazily enough, I want to do a YnM/Harry Potter crossover. Can you imagine how cool it is to have Muraki making merry mayhem in Hogwarts??? I was thinking of crossing over either in this story (with the Muraki that's been kicked in the balls but not a Shinigami or a kicked Muraki who's a Shinigami) or after **End of the Worlds**. What do you think?_

_d) A mixture of the above. Go crazy._

**_Q2: Do you guys want to know the pairings?_**

_I was thinking of keeping it a secret till it's very obvious and some of your guesses have even caught me by surprise. So do you want to know? I will be going by majority here._

_PS: for question 1, do please give me an opinion. It doesn't matter if you think that since I'm the writer, I can do whatever I want. I really appreciate the support but I would love also to know where you guys think the story should go to. I can't count the number of times when your guesses actually brought my other plots to heretofore unplanned avenues! So do vote, ne? Jaa!_


	7. Chapter 7:Muchan & the truth that Tsuzuk...

**Why you should never kick Muraki in the balls**

**Chapter Seven: Mu-chan & the truth that Tsuzuki cannot accept**

_A story by Kelly_

**_Summary: __It's nearly a year after the Kyoto Arc and Muraki is slowly losing himself to despair. This is a story about love, angst, humour, rage and why you should never kick Muraki in the balls. All will be explained. Soon._**

**_Pairings: __Not saying._**

**_Warning: __Will contain slash, graphic murders, traumatic recollections and the much-needed angst. Slight OOC. Read at your own risk._**

**_Note to all: __Concerning Muraki's past, I had actually planned it out earlier from when I first came up with the story. But when **Osmalic**'s came out, I realized that our premise for his past will likely be similar. So I've went ahead and asked for **Osmalic'**s permission, in case I inadvertently seem to be copying. Which I assure you, I'm not. I may end up mixing and mashing but I never intended nor do I plan on copying. _**

**Quotable Quotes from the Questionable Sanity of Kelly:**

_"I do not scowl. I merely look upon in disapproval."_

_                                                                                                               ~Kurosaki Hisoka~                                                                                  _

________________________________________________________________________

_                                                                         Catch your breath_

_                                                                              Hit the wall_

_                                                           Scream out loud as you start to crawl_

_                                                                          Back in your cage_

_                                                   The only place where they will leave you alone_

_                                      'Cause the weak will seek the weaker till they've broken them_

_                                                                   Could you get it back again?_

_                                                                       Would it be the same?_

_                                                Fulfillment to their lack of strength at your expense_

_                                                                    Left you with no defense _

_                                                                          They tore it down_

_                                                                     And I have felt the same_

_                                                                    As you, I've felt the same_

_                                                                    As you, I've felt the same_

_                                                                       ~Lifehouse "Simon"~_

________________________________________________________________________

It was, to him, a study of the most ironic of all ironies.

Muraki was, _is, a powerful man. He is a talented magician, taking to magic like a duck takes to water. Onmyouji was a laughable matter to master. So was western magic. And befitting his way of doing everything with innate style and a dash of flair, it had taken little time for him to come up with the idea of using his own brand of magic. Mixing onmyouji, spiritualism and western magic in ways that no one had ever dreamt of, Muraki became a _very_ powerful magician. If not the most powerful in his own right._

Though, Muraki was never vain enough to completely believe that. He was sure that there are other, more talented and far more powerful individuals out there though they seem to prefer to keep a low profile. For one thing, he was pretty sure he wouldn't want to meet the Sakurazukamori in a dark alley. Nor did he ever entertain the thought of meeting the Sumeragi Clan Head, especially _this generation's, face to face. And let's not even get into the whole Kamui and Dragons of Heaven and Earth thing. He would like to keep his pride and dignity intact. And he doubted that meeting any of the previously mentioned individuals would leave him with either._

But we were talking about ironies, we were not? Yes, Muraki is a talented, powerful magician.

But no matter how powerful, how charismatic or even how woefully evil you are, the nightmares will always find you.

You can run.

But you can't hide.

________________________________________________________________________

He dreamt.

He knew he was dreaming. Everyone can tell when they're dreaming. It's just a matter if you can wake up form the nightmare or not. And he couldn't.

He was in that little sunroom, off the west wing of the house that over looked the lake and gazebo. In spring, it was a wonderful place to be with the butterflies hovering ecstatically over the rose bushes that grew in wild profusion around the glass-fronted room. Autumn saw the scene outside painted russet red and golds and winter, everything was an innocent white.

He was around 10 years old in this dream. Wearing a silk white shirt specially tailored to his small frame and proper, silk trousers, Muraki was the picture of a small gentleman. He wasn't supposed to be here when he was wearing such nice clothes as the room was littered with pots of trained roses in all colors of the rainbow. Actually, that meant he should never even step foot in here any time at all as he was always in nice clothes. But Muraki was young. He was just a child. And he wanted to play with the roses.

Mommy loved the roses. She could identify each breed and variant with a single glance and knew the best way to coax luxuriant blooms from every one of them. Not that she did the work herself, oh no. Digging in the dirt was not work befitting one such as herself. Perfection must stay as it is.

But Muraki, dear, sweet young Muraki, knew not of such perfection. At least, not in himself. He knew that the roses are beautiful. So is Mommy. But perfection is as yet, a lesson that he did not fully understand. So there he was, that fine spring morning with his chubby little fingers trying to use a pruning shear too big for him. He knew that for the roses to be big and healthy, you had to sacrifice other buds. It was one of the earlier lessons on caring for the roses.

So he sat there, on the floor and chewed his bottom lip. He wasn't sure which bud to cut off. He felt sorry for them. It wasn't their fault that they grew. Yet cut them off he must. So he sat there and tried to figure out which bud was the meanest looking. That way, he wouldn't feel so guilty about using the shears.

Ah, he had decided on one. Using both hands to guide the shears, Muraki frowned in concentration and hesitantly closed the shears. But before he could cut through the hard stem, a shriek resounded in his ears. Flinching in surprise, Muraki dropped the shears and spun around.

Mommy.

And Mommy did not look pleased. She looked horrified.

Before he could explain anything, he was bundled up in arms that smelled of rose petals and felt like cool porcelain. With a dizzying briskness, he was deposited in his room and told to stay there. The door locked behind his mother and Muraki sat on the bed, trying not to cry. He knew what it meant when Mommy had that look in her eyes.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the door swung open and Mommy stood there in the doorway, that familiar gleam in her cobalt eyes. Muraki shrank into a corner and tried to become invisible. No use really, when you gleamed like a white candle in the dark with that silver hair of his.

_Kazutaka, his mother's voice was like the tolling of bells in his eras. No matter where he turned, he could not get rid of the echoes._

_Kazutaka, how could you do that? You know you should never sully yourself with dirt. You are beautiful. You are perfect. My perfect little doll. And you must stay that way. You understand don't you? You know that Mommy has to do this for your own good._

He knew better than to cry. No one would come, forbidden as they were by Mommy. It was his own fault anyway. But oh, how he hated the dark and the cramped space.

How he hated being stripped of any clothing and thrust into that dark dark cupboard.

He had been sullied. Now he must be cleansed of all imperfections and made whole and perfect again. 

________________________________________________________________________

"Mu-chan!"

Muraki stirred, still trapped in the grip of a reality turned into a nightmare.

"Mu-chan! Wake up!"

_Mu-chan? His mother didn't call him that. It was always Kazutaka. His father called him that as well. Oriya liked to use Kazu. On good days that is. When he was pissed, it was always Muraki. Besides, why would they call him anyway? He was trapped in that cupboard as punishment. It was his own fault anyway. It always is._

"Mu-chan!"

It was then that Muraki completely woke up, practically thrown out of his nightmare thanks to a little monster that decided to jump up and down on his futon. While he was still in it.

Startled out of a nightmare which had plagued his sleep for years uncounted, Muraki sat up with an oath and a hand which fairly crackled with power, ready to disintegrate the fool that had decided to attack him in his sleep. Said fool tumbled from his chest to roll on the covers with a shriek and high-pitched laughter.

"Mu-chan said a bad word! Mu-chan said a bad word!"

Muraki blinked. And let go of the power he held. Somehow, he didn't think an attacker would be concerned about foul language. That little bundle still rolling around in his lap suddenly sat up and Muraki found himself face to face with a little girl. She had light brown hair, done up in a two pigtails and glittering black eyes that simply screamed, 'I'm up to no good!'

He shivered.

"Ah. . .Eri?" he tried. He vaguely remembered something that Oriya had mentioned yesterday. Something about a family he was fond of with a 7 year old daughter that had declared him to be perfectly sound of mind. He seem to recall also Oriya threatening him with bodily harm should he even looked the wrong way at little Eri or her family. He had given Oriya his promise and since Oriya was the only one who could hold him to one, he would adhere to it.

He shifted uncomfortably under that piercing regard that seemed too knowing for a 7 year old.

"Mu-chan had a nightmare?" Eri asked him, a serious frown on her young face.

_Mu-chan? He twitched._

He looked anywhere else but at her. That in itself was a miracle as Muraki enjoyed making _other _people uncomfortable. But somehow, Eri's "Of course you're not insane!" had stuck with him. It reverberated in his mind at the oddest times and strangely, insanely, gave him comfort. Eri had said it with the utmost confidence and the innocent brashness in her eyes had _dared_ him to contradict her.

"Well?"

"No. . .not really," he hedged.

"Daddy says that it's not nice to lie," Eri declared firmly.

The day was made for miracles. Muraki actually drooped at the censure Eri showed.

"It. . ." he picked at the loose threads of his futon. "It was just a normal nightmare. . ." he mumbled.

"Of course it was a normal nightmare!"

Muraki eyed her with fresh bewilderment. "Excuse me?"

Eri rolled her eyes, clucking her tongue in obvious disapproval of the continuous idiocy this one adult seemed to show. Really, and they're the ones who are supposed to know better!

"How can a nightmare be un-normal?" she demanded rationally.

"_Abnormal," Muraki corrected her absently._

Eri rolled her eyes again. "_Okay_," she said with exaggerated patience. "How can a nightmare be _abnormal? It's a nightmare. They make you scared and people don't like them. You were scared, right?"_

Miracle number three. Muraki actually nodded. And wondered why.

"So you were scared and you didn't like that nightmare. So it's normal!" Eri sat back and beamed, obviously pleased with her logic. And Muraki, for the life of him, could not figure out a way to counter that. And somehow, he didn't feel like he wanted to. There was just something about her. . .there was this fresh innocence in her, the belief that everything will be alright, perhaps? that made him loathe to shatter or disillusion it. His had been broken to pieces long ago. Seeing it in her. . .made him feel that maybe. . .maybe there was some hope left.

But for what?

"So you gonna sit here all day or what?" Eri demanded suddenly.

"What?" he blinked.

"You're not sick anymore right?"

Muraki shook his head.

Bounce bounce bounce. "Great! So you gonna come down for breakfast? They got western today. I hate natto. D'you like natto? Coz it's all yucky and gooey." Bounce bounce.

"I'm not really fond of the taste myself," Muraki said cautiously. Eri kept on bouncing though. His knees were starting to ache. Almost absently, he picked her up, Eri squealing in delight and settled her down firmly on his lap. Miracle number 4.

"Mu-chan!" 

Muraki raised an enquiring eyebrow. "Who told you my name?" he asked mildly. "And why on earth are you calling me. . .that?"

Eri giggled and leaned in to whisper conspiratorly in his ear. "Chika-san told me," she confided. "But Muraki sounds too long and stiff so I'm calling you Mu-chan!" she declared proudly. "You like it?"

Though there was a beautifully put upon look of hope on her face, Muraki was not fooled. He saw the gleam of determination in her black eyes that said clearly; this man is Mu-chan and I will call him Mu-chan and god help him if he does not want to be called Mu-chan.

Muraki sighed. He knew defeat when he saw it. "I like it."

"Great! Get dressed already and come down for breakfast!"

Miracle number 5. He actually listened to her.

________________________________________________________________________

It was ridiculous really, how nervous he was. And it was only a plain wooden door.

Hisoka shifted nervously on the balls of his feet. The cake box he held in a deathgrip had the handle nearly mangled from constant clenching and a sweat-slicked palm. Glancing into the brass plaque that announced that yes, this is indeed the Shokan's staff room, Hisoka caught his reflection and tried to pat down his hair. And immediately felt utterly foolish and extremely angry.

_What's the use? He thought angrily. _It's not like it'll make any difference. You know already that he can't stand the sight of you._ Or rather, Hisoka amended silently to himself, Tsuzuki cannot stand the sight of his body. Which was decorated with his curse marks._

This was bordering on the ridiculous. Yesterday's talk with Tatsumi had set him to rights somewhat. It wasn't the answer he was looking for but at least, it made some sense in his already screwed up existence. Though the harsh truth that Tsuzuki may never be okay. . .that he was and always will be drowning in his past that no one knew of. . . he set that aside for the moment. What's important for now is that he get their relationship back to some semblance of normalcy that it had before it all blew up in their faces. Back to the constant denials and pretending but at least, it's something.

With that 'cheerful' thought in mind, Hisoka squared his shoulders and opened the door. As he stepped inside, he noticed that the staff room was relatively quiet. The girls were all down in Chijou with their respective partners and Watari being Watari, was in the lab. He had checked. He preferred to do what he was about to do next in privacy.

Tsuzuki was already at his desk, buried ostensibly under mounds of paperwork which he was desperately trying to pass off as actually doing work as opposed to pretending to doing work. He was good at it. Unfortunately, Tsuzuki's effort was a lost cause as it was only him and not Tatsumi.

He came to stand behind his own desk which was next to Tsuzuki's and cleared his throat.

"Ah. . .Tsuzuki?" he shifted uncomfortably.

Tsuzuki's head jerked up, eyes wildly scanning the room. Realising that no Tatsumi was around to call him on his bluff and threaten him with the monthly wages, he visibly sagged with relief. But as he realized just who was standing next to him, his shoulders stiffened, just so slightly, but it was there all the same. Hisoka could practically feel the walls he kept on his emotions got a mile thicker.

"Hisoka," he smiled. The smile was relaxed, cheerful and friendly but Hisoka wasn't fooled.

He gestured awkwardly with his free hand. "I just. . ." his eyes fixed to a spot that was somewhere in the middle of Tsuzuki's chest. There was a light stain next to his breast pocket. "I just want to say. . .I'm sorry. For yesterday," he added miserably. "I didn't mean to blow up at you like that."

"Yes you did," Tsuzuki corrected him gently.

That startled Hisoka into meeting Tsuzuki's dark purple eyes. Strange eyes. Abnormal eyes. Eyes that had made Muraki kill to own.

_No, don't think about him. Not now._

"Why. ." he swallowed nervously. "Why do you say that?"

Tsuzuki smiled a sad smile. This was more genuine, less forced. "I do love you Hisoka," he started, a bit hesitantly but there was a determination to it that said he wanted to see it through to the end. "But. . ." he tapped his temple wryly, "I'm not really alright here." He tapped his heart next. "Or here. I can't give you what you want or need. I can't even give it to myself."

Hisoka stared at him, not sure what to make of this sudden confession. His heart had leapt with his partner's candid admission of affection and had immediately broken to pieces again with the next words. It wasn't the explanation he was looking for. Oh, it was better than the denial he had expected to hear. But it still wasn't the answer.

"And what about this?" he asked softly. He set aside the cake box. This time, not bothering to do the dramatic way of snapping his shirt open, he settled for drawing his sleeve up a few inches. It was enough. The marks were quiet, a deep nearly maroon scarlet. But it was there in all of its morbid glory.

He knew it was a big possibility. That it was in all probability, what Tsuzuki had feared to broach. But god help him, the pain he felt when Tsuzuki actually flinched, _yet again, at the sight of his curse, was too real. It was more real even, than the air he breathed, the clothes he wore and the floor beneath his feet._

"It's not just that, is it Tsuzuki?" he asked, voice so carefully soft and controlled. "You can't see past the marks. You can't see beyond my past. It is all that you see when you're with me?"

Tsuzuki surged to his feet, panicked. "No! That's not what I meant! I-I mean. ." he fumbled, hands gesturing wildly as he tried to make Hisoka understand. "I don't. . .I just. . ." he trailed off as he realized that his very inability to say what he actually meant became more condemning than an actual confession. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the very picture of misery.

They stood like that, face to face yet not facing each other. Eyes were fixed on a desk or a window. Anything but at each other.

"I'm sorry," Hisoka finally stirred and fixed wide, unseeing eyes on his partner. "I had no right to say that."

"Hisoka, I-" Tsuzuki began wretchedly but he cut him off with a shake of his head.

"No," he insisted with a vacant smile. "It's alright. I understand." _God help me I don't. I do, but I don't. I don't want to. Please take it back. Say you can love me. Please. "Actually, I got you this as a peace offering," his vacant smile turned to one of wryness as he placed the cake box in Tsuzuki's trembling hands. "I got it from your favourite bakery. I was almost tempted to eat it myself."_

Tsuzuki stood there, head bowed and clutched the white box as though it was his lifeline. There was no more to be said.

"Well," Hisoka said casually, "We don't have a case assigned yet, right?" As Tsuzuki's slow confirmation, he went on. "I think I'll go take a walk outside. Take advantage of our freedom while we can right?"

He didn't wait for answer. Spinning around on his heels, tears that he refused to shed glittering in his eyes, Hisoka forced himself to a sedate walk that nonetheless, carried him quickly outside.

Here, underneath the sakuras he could try to find peace. Even if, ironically, it was underneath one that he found horror in the first place. _But don't think about him now. The lake was a still mirror and he looked deep into it, sitting near the edge as he tucked his knees under his chin and his hands tried to contain the pain that screamed to be let out of his head. _

He lost track of time. He only knew that sometime later, another reflection joined his and offered him wordless comfort.

Tatsumi stayed with him until their reflections were lost in the fall of salty rain and even then, Tatsumi was there to offer him a solid shoulder against the neverending tears.

                                                                         ***************

**                                                                           to be continued**

                                                                         ***************

_You know, Eri was purely coincidental. She never even figured into the story when I was first fleshing it out. All of a sudden, Oriya was being a chicken, trying to get up his nerve to enter Muraki's room and bam! Eri was there! And here she is again._

_Is it us that control our writing or our muses?_

_I won't crossover with Harry Potter because as I'm sure you've noticed, I already started it. Yay! As to whether there is a sequel. . .we'll see *wink*. I have this scene in mind with Muraki, Eri and Hisoka. . .it'll be. . .interesting, to say the least. *smirk*_

_As to my HP/YnM crossover, I am looking for people willing to collaborate on it. There's so much I don't know about the magical world even if I am a Pot-head (that's what my friend calls HP fans *giggle*). **Shaynie has already kindly agreed to lend me her assistance and the more the merrier I say! ^^ So drop me a line at the mailing list, email or review, ne?**_

_Anyways, review! Jaa!_


End file.
